


I Saw Two Ships Come Sailing In

by feral_albertan_female, WolverMean (feral_albertan_female)



Series: Feral and Forever [5]
Category: Marvel, Sabretooth - Fandom, Victor Creed - Fandom, X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual Female Character, Canada, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Feral and Forever, Halifax, Heterosexual Sex, Historical References, Lesbian Sex, Mates, Mating, Mating Bond, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Series, Smut, World War I, continuing series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-06-23 05:56:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15599811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feral_albertan_female/pseuds/feral_albertan_female, https://archiveofourown.org/users/feral_albertan_female/pseuds/WolverMean
Summary: Victor Creed and his mate, Evra Kitney, have finally made it to Halifax. Both are ready to ship off to Europe but what happens when history gets in the way?





	1. In the Same Boat

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are welcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and critiques are welcomed!

December 5, 1917 – Halifax, Nova Scotia 

With one of the finest and deepest ice-free harbours in North America, Halifax was the port through which tens of thousands of Canadian, British Empire and American troops passed on their way to the battlefields of Europe, or on their way home.

\- The Canadian Encyclopedia, article by Lois Kernaghan, Richard Foot

 

* * *

 

**Kelly**

 

Kelly Murphy was curled next to Evra Kitney, her head on her lover’s chest, listening to her heart beat steadily. With a sigh, she reached up and wrapped a strand of Evra’s hair around her index finger, giving it a light tug before letting it fall loose.

“When d’ you an’ Victor ship out?” Kelly asked quietly.

The large blonde man was asleep in the big bed across the room, rumbling softly. His hair had been shorn recently, short now on the sides and top. It did nothing to lessen the sharp planes of Victor’s face, instead making him look larger and meaner than before. It also did nothing to hide his brutish handsomeness.

“End of the month,” Evra replied softly. “Few days after Christmas.”

Kelly shifted slightly so that she and her lover were face to face. “Why go? Why don’t you stay here with me?”

“This is my chance t’ see the world,” Evra said, caressing the Irish girl’s cheek.

The brunette huffed. “By pretendin’ to be a man an’ goin’ t’ war? All you’ll see is war and death.”

“Kelly.” Evra’s voice held a note of irritation.

She knew she had pushed her lover too far. They’d been over it and over it since they’d met up in Saskatchewan, talking, discussing, yelling, fighting and the answer never got any easier for Kelly to take.

It was a foolish risk, she thought, for Evra to go to war as Evan. She knew that the woman could easily pass for a man thanks to her androgynous looks, but it was easy to do so in a place like Canada.

The dominion wasn’t densely populated and one wasn’t constantly pressed against another. There was a modicum of privacy that one could easily find if they only looked. No one looked to closely at one another out west; it was still wild and untamed, so men were too busy guarding their piece of land, their furs, whatever they made their money from.

War was going to be completely different and Kelly didn’t think that Evra had grasped that. She was going to be constantly surrounded by men and constantly in close quarters. There would be very little space, certainly no seclusion, not to mention the noise, the dirt, the blood.

Kelly couldn’t understand how Evra though it was going to work.

She desperately wanted to build a future with Evra, move back out west, get a farm. It would be easy enough for her lover to disguise herself; Kelly even thought it would be possible for them to adopt some children and live out the rest of their days together.

Victor Creed was the only fly in the butter.

The man was huge, ruthless, and cruel, but he seemed to have a hold over Evra that Kelly couldn’t explain. She tried to ignore the desperately intense looks Victor would give her lover. She tried to ignore the noises she would hear when Victor and Evra were alone together—the snarls, the growls, the hisses, and the moans—and how Evra would return to her arms exhausted and bloody.

Now the man was taking Evra from her, taking her across the ocean, towards war and strife and pain. Kelly didn’t like it and she’d made it known, but in the end, it was Evra’s life. She would stay in Halifax, find a job, and wait for Evra to come home to her. Then they could start their life together; all Kelly had to do was be patient.

She sighed and pressed herself Evra, her lips ghosting her lover’s. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I worry about you is all.”

Evra gave her a sweet kiss. “You shouldn’t,” she said. “I should be th’ one worryin’ about _you_.”

Kelly giggled, her heart filled with love, but it quickly turned to lust as Evra slid a hand under her nightgown and skated her fingers over her clit. The kisses soon turned heated, leaving her gasping for air as her lover grazed her lips down her body. When she reached the apex of Kelly’s thighs, the nightgown was lifted, exposing her wet sex to the air.

The first lick of Evra’s tongue had Kelly arching soundlessly off of the bed, biting her bottom lip hard enough to bleed. She didn’t want to wake Victor; the man seemed to have a sixth sense about when Evra and Kelly were being intimate and liked to watch.

She had agreed to it at first, thinking someone watching her and her lover together would be thrilling, but the sheer fierceness of his gaze always frightened her—and he always seemed to know when she was the most frightened. Victor’s odd amber eyes would lock with hers and he would lick his lips as if she were something he wanted to devour.

Kelly never brought it up, knowing it would upset Evra. Her lover had some sort of strange … _something_ when it came to Victor.

She was protective of him despite the fact that man was a veritable giant of height and muscle, she would enrage him one minute and calm him the next, she didn’t seem to like other women touching him. It didn’t make sense to Kelly, but she loved Evra enough to trust her.

Her lover’s lips closed around her clit, her tongue flicking the sensitive tip, and she couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped. Evra began to suck gently, making Kelly squirm and her laugh was muffled as she pulled the girl tighter against her mouth, licking lower before circling back up.

“Pl-please,” she whispered, her hips jerking under Evra’s ministrations.

Evra hummed, sending tingles to the base of Kelly’s spine. She fisted the sheet under her, a loud groan leaving her lips as she ground her pussy down on her lover’s mouth, only wanting the sweet release of climax.

It occurred to her suddenly that she had been quite loud and she flicked her gaze to where Victor was slumbering, only to find those peculiar amber eyes staring at her, a venomous smile on his face.

Kelly started to say her lover’s name to alert her, but the bloom of orgasm blossomed throughout her body, making her cry out as Evra’s tongue milked the last of the pleasure from her.

Victor’s eyes never left Kelly’s.

  

* * *

 

 **Victor**  

 

The sound came to Victor before he opened his eyes: the sweet sound of a tongue licking a pussy. He’d awoken to it a few times before, letting smells he loved fill his senses as he came into full wakefulness, his gaze coming to rest on Evra’s head buried between the Irish girl’s thighs, making her squirm and groan in delight.

Victor slipped his hand down to his growing hard-on as soon as he locked eyes with Kelly, stroking it slowly. He knew she was close to orgasm, the wonderful scent of her pheromones mixing with her sweet pussy juice and sweat to make the most irresistible smell.

The girl was terrified of him and that’s what made the experience so much more satisfying for Victor. Evra wasn’t afraid of him, but rutting with her was so beyond anything he’d ever experienced, he wasn’t going to give it up just for the scent of fear.

The first time Evra and Kelly had fucked in front of him, the scent of the Irish girl’s fright had driven him to a place he hadn’t been in a while and it was glorious. It touched things in him that hadn’t been stoked in months and he had practically gone feral that night, fucking Evra savagely, brutally. She’d taken it beautifully, coming back to him the next night alone, but Victor knew he’d have to control that animalistic urge.

That didn’t mean he still didn’t get off on it. Kelly’s fear added the little spark he’d been missing and he was grateful for it.

Victor stroked his cock once, twice and the brunette cried out as she climaxed, Evra satisfied to help her ride it out, her tongue and lips working until Kelly gasped out a plea for her to stop.

Evra lifted her head, licking her lips, and said quietly, “Enjoy the show, Victor?” Her voice held a note of derision and he growled at her, releasing his erection.

“What th’ hell is she doin’ in here anyway?” he asked, flicking his sheets aside and sitting up. He was stark naked and Kelly gasped, averting her eyes. He liked making the Irish girl uncomfortable. “’M payin’ for her own goddamn room so folks don’t think she’s a slut, an’ yet here she is, actin’ like a slut.”

“It’s not like that.” Evra growled.

“It isn’t?” he replied mockingly. “Is it true love?”

Victor got to his feet and she scrambled up onto the bed, putting herself between him and Kelly. He was in front of them in four long strides, his hand back on his cock.

“You ever been fucked by a man, Irish?” Victor sneered, sliding his hand up his member, which was leaking precome. “Had that sweet little hymen of yours broken from th’ poundin’ of a man’s dick?”

Evra bared her teeth at him. “Don’t talk t’ her like that!”

“Why not?” Victor began moving his hand up and down slowly, applying just the right amount of pressure. “Your precious little Irish lass too innocent in the way of a cock? Well, have ya, girl? Been fucked by a _real_ man?”

“No,” Kelly said brazenly, her eyes flashing. “Never been fucked by a man, real or otherwise.”

Victor snorted. The girl could be brave, but only when she was hiding behind her protector. He didn’t understand why Evra’s slit was wet for this piece of Irish; Jasmine had been a better fit, but she was dead by his hand, so …

He didn’t release his grip as he smirked down at the woman. “Hmmm—mebbe I should fix that little problem, for ya.”

Evra snarled, getting up on her knees, her shoulders thrown back. “Don’t you dare put one fuckin’ finger on her!”

Victor wondered if she knew how magnificent she was when she was like this, all growls and threats and teeth. Evra’s power would have been wasted back in Alberta as a bouncer; there was so much potential behind that innocent face and Victor was the only one that had complete access to it.

“The get out,” he growled at the brunette. “She made ya come, so get th’ fuck outta here.”

Kelly slid from the bed, her lips pursed and haughty head held high as she went to the door and left without glancing back. Victor waited until he heard her footsteps on the stairs before he turned to Evra.

She was still kneeling on the bed, her face flushed with anger, her sharp teeth on display. She was wild, and animal, and feral, and everything Victor craved. He loved that Evra would get incensed with him, that she would challenge him, talk back to him.

“Don’t ever fuckin’ do that again,” Evra spat. “Don’t come around here swingin’ that dick an’ talkin’ shit. I will fuckin’ gut you if you talk t’ her like that again.”

He felt himself grow harder at her threat—he knew she was capable of it and would do it without hesitation. “Bringin’ her was a mistake,” Victor said, taking a step towards the bed. “She’s distractin’ you. Should be gettin’ ready for war.”

Evra didn’t cringe away as he came closer. “How readier could I fuckin’ get? All we been doin’ is patrols, scouting out any scary lookin’ Huns we see.”

Victor kneeled on the small bed on front of Evra. It groaned precariously under his weight. “Instead of bitchin’, you should be grateful I was able t’ pull a few strings, getcha in the goddamn army in th’ first place. You wouldn’t be seein’ shit if it weren’t for me.”

She sighed and dropped her eyes, but still didn’t back up. “I _am_ grateful, Victor,” she said. “It’s jus’ that—“

“Yer worried ‘bout Irish,” he said. “Girl’s gonna be fine. Could even be hitched by th’ time th’ fuckin’ war’s over. Could’ve forgotten all ‘bout yer ugly face.”

Evra grinned. “ _My_ ugly face?” she scoffed. “The only ugly face we gotta worry ‘bout is _yours_. Prob’ly causin’ nightmares all over the fuckin’ world.”

Victor laughed, a long, loud genuine laugh. It caught him off guard—he hadn’t laughed like that in a while. Evra joined in for a few moments until the sound of a broom handle on the floor quieted them. The landlady.

“Miserable bitch.” Victor muttered, clenching and unclenching a fist. He couldn’t wait to get out of Halifax and back to the war and get back into the thick of things, the blood and the screaming and the meat … the thought excited him.

Evra opened her mouth to speak but Victor was done talking. He grabbed her, pulling her to him for a ferocious kiss, his claws making short work of her nightshirt. She tasted amazing, the juices of Kelly’s orgasm still on her tongue.

“Victor,” she gasped when they parted. “We shouldn—“

“Shut up,” he growled quietly into her ear. “Gotta be quiet.”

A few minutes later, Victor had Evra on her knees, bent over the bed as he thrust savagely into her wet heat, his claws cutting into the flesh of her hips. She was biting the sheets to keep from crying out, but a few whimpers escaped, spurring him to drive harder.

Victor knew he was lucky. He was going to war. He was going to fight. He had a mate to fuck.

How could life get any better?

 

 


	2. Refuse to Sink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor Creed and his mate, Evra Kitney, find themselves at the location of one of Canada's biggest disasters. Will they be able to go to war or has the fight ended before its even begun?

December 6, 1917 – Halifax, Nova Scotia

             

Kelly kept her eyes on the scissors as she clipped Evra’s hair, the rust-coloured locks falling onto the newspaper she’d thoughtfully put down.

She didn’t want Mrs. Jordan, the widowed landlady, to be mad about little hairs everywhere. The landlady was fair, but strict. Kelly guessed she had to be when she took in both male and female borders.

The widow’s husband had been quite wealthy, hence the three storied townhouses. Mr. Jordan had owned the building next door as well letting out floors to local businesses like lawyers and tailors and the like.

When Mr. Jordan passed, Mrs. Jordan turned it into a boarding house for ladies, putting in a wide opening between the two sitting rooms, so boarders were allowed to mingle, but only under the watchful eye of the landlady herself or Kelly’s aunt, Heather O’Shane.

The first floor of each building had a common area, a dining room for special celebrations, a large kitchen, and a powder room for guest use only. Mrs. Jordan’s own bedroom was on the main floor of the men’s boarding house, it having been her home before she renovated.

The second and third had four bedrooms on each level, each wallpapered in pink or rose floral patterns. In fact, flowers were splattered everywhere: in the artwork, dried in little tiny jars sitting on doilies, on the little embroidered pillows Mrs. Jordan sewed herself and left in the bedrooms.

Each level had its own washroom with a toilet and an indoor shower. Kelly had never seen anything so wonderful in her life. She wondered what it would like to be rich, own two townhouses where each floor had an indoor washroom.

It must be like heaven.

The men’s townhouse also had four bedrooms on the top two floors but the floral décor ended abruptly once one stepped foot into their area. There were no embroidered pillows or ornate coverlets for the men.

Instead of bright, cheery, and pink, their floors were done in muted shades of blues and greys, pictures of ships, small decorative anchors, and wooden birds were hung willy-nilly about the place.

Victor claimed it practically made him sea sick.

“Watch those hairs now!” Mrs. Jordan admonished as she handed the large blond a plate stacked full of eggs and sausages.

Kelly cast a quick eye downward; there was nothing to worry about. She was being neat as a pin and Evra wasn’t the kind of person who fidgeted. In fact, she could stay completely still for hours, which unnerved Kelly.

“I will, Mrs. Jordan,” she said sweetly.

The landlady smiled at her. “You’ve got a good girl in that one, Evan,” she said, waving a finger at the pair.

She and Kelly’s aunt were under the impression that Evra and Kelly were betrothed. Neither of them did anything to discourage the belief.

“Thank you, Mrs. Jordan.” Evra smiled at the old woman, who beamed back with a blush on her crêpe-like cheeks.

Kelly was convinced that the widow might have a bit of a crush on Evra—not that Kelly could blame her. Her lover, despite her plainness, looked quite dashing in her army uniform.

“Yeah, he sure knows how t’ pick ‘em,” Victor muttered into his coffee cup.

He caught the landlady’s attention. “And _you_ , Mr. Creed,” snapped Mrs. Jordan. “You could do with a good woman!”

Victor grinned widely, just a hint of sharp canines hinting through his lips. “Oh, I got me a woman, Mrs. Jordan,” he said loftily, wiping his plate clean with a piece of bread. “A good, good woman.”

“Really?” the landlady said disdainfully. “Where is this so-called ‘woman’?”

He popped the bread in his mouth and chewed leisurely, his amber eyes slowly travelling over Evra. “She’s around,” he replied slyly. “Shows up when I need her; that’s all a man could want.”

Mrs. Jordan harrumphed as she refilled his coffee. “You should let Kelly cut your dundrearies. The army shouldn’t allow such facial hair! You should have a lovely, smooth face like Evan.”

Victor took a mouthful of coffee before he stood and stretched. “I already been overseas,” he said with a saucy wink at the landlady. “The broads there like a bit o’ scruff on their men.”

His reply took the widow by surprise and she huffed and puffed while Victor pulled on his jacket.

“Time t’ get goin’,” he said. “C’mon, Evan. We need to report for check-in.”

Kelly had just finished cutting Evra’s hair and was wiping away any obvious clippings from around her cheeks and ears. When she was done, Evra stood and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

“Thanks, Kelly,” she said. “Will you meet us out by the docks at nine?”

It had become somewhat of a tradition that she would meet Evra and Victor down by Pier 6 around that time. The three would take a small break, eat sandwiches and apples and watch the ships in the harbour until patrol started again.

“You’ll be getting my famous roast beef sandwiches,” Mrs. Jordan said proudly. “I’ll be sure to include a little horseradish in yours, Evan.”

Evra and Victor thanked the landlady and headed out the door, caps placed atop their heads. Kelly went to the step to wave goodbye and overheard Victor mocking Mrs. Jordan.  
“’ _I’ll be sure to include a little horseradish in yours, Evan!_ ’” he said in a high-pitched sugary-sweet voice. “That old lady’ll be tryin’ t’ get into your trousers next.”

“Won’t she be fuckin’ surprised if she does?” Evra retorted as she waved to Kelly and the brunette heard raucous laughter before they vanished around the corner.

She couldn’t help the twinge of jealousy that bit her suddenly. Victor got to see Evra in a way she never would and it rankled just a little. Kelly knew she was being foolish, but the feeling stayed with her as she went back inside the boarding house.

It was 7:30 a.m.

 

* * *

 

**Victor**

 

Victor was bored.

Bored, bored, bored, bored.

Sure, he liked the looks he was getting from quite a few of the women they passed by in their smart looking uniforms, but he couldn’t act on it. He couldn’t take one of his admirers into a nearby alley and show them what the uniform was hiding.

Victor couldn’t even take Evra into a nearby alley and take a look at what _her_ uniform was hiding. There were too many soldiers marching around, acting superior and keeping an eye out for a so-called ‘threat’.

It was all bullshit as far as he was concerned.

He knew the chances of an attack on Halifax were virtually zero, but cities liked to pretend they were important. Besides, Halifax had a _harbour_ —a goddamn major harbour! Wasn’t that basis enough for a raid?

Not in this war.

No one overseas gave a shit about Canada; they were too busy having their pissing contest over a diplomatic crisis that should have been solved before spreading like a gonorrhoea outbreak and infecting any party who had an army. But it was great way to show other countries who had the best guns and who was Victor to deny a good brawl?

“What time is it?” he growled at Evra, who was striding along beside him, eyes wide as she took in the sights and sounds of the city. “An’ stop lookin’ around like a fuckin’ goober.”

She checked her watch, an ill-gotten gain from their travels across the country, then shook her cuff back over it. “Eight thirty,” she said, sidestepping a young girl who cast Evra a wistful look.

It had to be the goddamn uniform.

Without it, she was painfully plain to the point that no one ever looked twice at her. She was androgynous enough that she had no trouble switching back and forth between male and female looks and since people didn’t usually spare Evra a glance, it was easy for her to get in and out of places practically unnoticed. It had helped them out quite a bit as they’d made their way from Alberta to Nova Scotia.

To be honest, Victor wasn’t sure he liked people looking at Evra anyway. He wanted to be the only one that genuinely saw her, that had witnessed the quick temper and killer instinct that lurked behind her innocent and ordinary face.

“This is fuckin’ boring. Let’s head to th’ docks early,” Victor said, placing a hand on Evra’s shoulder. “If we get hassled, we can say we’re coverin’ breaks.”

The two turned and started walking back towards the harbour, enjoying the muted December sunshine and the looks of the women who passed them by.

 

* * *

 

**Kelly**

 

Kelly had been in a rush to leave the boarding house, so she knew she was going to be early to the pier, but that didn’t bother her any.

She was desperate to get away from her aunt and Mrs. Jordan’s questions about Evan and their so-called nuptials. Kelly answered the best she could—reminding herself to tell Evra about the made-up details lest they latch onto her—while packing the sandwiches and fruit and leaving as quickly as was polite after a brief thank you for the food.

Being early meant that Kelly could enjoy watching the people hustle and bustle and the ships bob in the water until Victor and Evra arrived. These few moments of solitude would be nice after what happened last night; it would give her some room to breathe.

The big blond was such an overwhelming presence in Kelly’s life. He made constant demands on Evra’s time and body and she often wondered how her lover dealt with it

Victor had always been possessive when it came to Evra—that was no surprise—but Kelly had never the man so intent on upsetting her. He never laid a finger on unless absolutely necessary and now he’d tried to get between her legs?

It didn’t make sense … unless Victor was letting Kelly know that Evra would no longer be needing her.

She sighed; that would be _exactly_ like him.

The man had been trying to edge her out of Evra’s life ever since the two had met and now it was getting closer and closer to the time when she and her lover would have to bid each other farewell, perhaps for forever.

Kelly shook her head—she didn’t want to think about that. There was no time for melancholy.

She had to be brave and bright for Evra.

It was unusually warm for December; there was no snow on the ground and the temperature was relatively mild for the time of year. No one was complaining, though. December could be a harsh and unforgiving month all over the Dominion, so everyone was happy to enjoy the nice weather.

Approaching the docks, Kelly was caught up in a throng of people pushing and shoving and shouting. Everyone she passed seemed excited, like something amazing was about to happen. Children, who should have been on their way to school, were racing past her towards the docks.

“What going on?” Kelly asked a man who was striding quickly after the children.

“Two boats are about to collide.” He practically pushed past her in his rush.

What an extremely silly thing to get worked up about, she thought to herself. Two boats were going to bump; what’s the thrill in that?

It was getting increasingly difficult to work her way through the throng and Kelly was suspecting she’d never find Evra until she spotted Victor’s hulking frame across the pier. She called his name and waved and by some miracle, he heard her over the chatter and began walking towards her, cutting a swath through the mass of bodies. Evra followed right behind him.

Her lover’s face was twisted with worry as she reached Kelly. “Those two ships are gonna hit each other,” she said. “Shouldn’t one of ‘em be movin’ or somethin’?”

“Yer early,” was all Victor muttered as he eased the basket from Kelly’s arm. He rummaged around and pulled out a sandwich, peeling back the brown wrapper before cramming half of it in his mouth. “Did th’ ol’ biddy pack more n’ three?”

“Yes,” Kelly answered, distracted by the concern in Evra’s voice. “She’s knows what a pig you are.”

Victor sneered at her and dug out another sandwich. Evra turned to the larger man, uneasiness still written on her features.

“Should we be movin’ people back?” Evra asked. “Could be one o’ those ships has explosives or somethin’ on it, huh?”

“Naw,” Victor replied around a mouthful of food. “Ain’t gonna have nothin’ like that in th’ harbour ‘less it’s bein’ guarded by a Brit cruiser or destroyer. Nobody’d be that fuckin’ stupid.”

Evra tugged on the blond’s jacket, something Kelly had never seen her lover do before. The gesture seemed scared, panicky almost.

“Somethin’ don’t smell right, Victor,” she said urgently. “I don’t like it; we should get away from here.”

Victor shoved the basket towards Evra’s chest. “Shut up. Yer bein’ a Calamity Jane for no fuckin’ reason.” The look Evra gave him pause. “Fine. If it’ll make ya feel better, let’s start back towards th’ streets.”

Kelly took her lover’s hand as the trio walked against the crowd. Evra held tight.

It was 8:40 a.m.

 

* * *

 

**Victor**

 

Victor saw Evra’s head jerk back towards the pier, her ears alert.

He’d heard it too—one short blast from the _Mont-Blanc_ ’s whistle, followed by two short blasts from the _Imo_.Neither of those fuckers was going to give the other any leeway. They were going to crash into each other.

Evra picked up speed, practically dragging Irish along behind her. Victor couldn’t tell what had the kid so spooked, but the anxiety in her scent made him trust that his mate was picking up on something he wasn’t privy to. Evra was trusting her instincts; Victor could do the same.

The sound of one of the ships cutting its engine would have been missed by the growing throng of people who were shouting and yelling, eager to see the two ships collide, but Victor and Evra heard it.

He stopped, the two women bumping into him, the basket falling from Evra’s hand. As he turned, another whistle sounded, followed by two from the other ship. The _Mont-Blanc_ cut its engine but it was too late; the momentum of both vessels continued to carry them towards each other. He was entranced.

“Victor,” Evra hissed, but he placed hand on her shoulder and turned both her and Irish to face the port.

“Look,” Victor said, awed. “They’re gonna crash.”

It was 8:44 a.m.

 

* * *

 

**Kelly**

 

Why had they stopped?

Kelly squeezed Evra’s hand and her lover squeezed back as Victor turned them to face the harbour. He sounded impressed that the ship were about to crash into each other.

One of the ships was making a pointed effort to avoid the other but at the last minute, the other let out three sharp blasts.

“Fuck,” Victor was incredulous. “He’s gonna fuckin’ reverse? Now?”

Slowly, agonizingly, _Imo_ ’s prow swung into the other’s starboard side and everyone on shore seemed to draw a collective breath. An eerie silence fell.

It was 8:45 a.m.

A few barrels on the deck of the _Mont-Blanc_ tumbled over, spilling its contents.

That was it? That was all? It seemed almost anticlimactic.

The crowd released the breath it had been holding and cheered, the noise almost covering the reversing of the _Imo_. Almost.

The ship’s engine cut in and it began reversing, the drag of its metal in the _Mont-Blanc_ ’s hull creating sparks. Fire shot up from the water and began climbing the side of the ship, following the trail of liquid that had gushed from the tipped barrels.

The blaze grew bigger as the flames climbed the hull, flaring higher as it reached the soaked deck.

A few of the smaller ships in the harbour tried to get close in order to help tame the fire, but it grew quickly out of control, a constant hiss and puff as more and more flames popped up.

Kelly could see sailors aboard the ship scrambling to evacuate.

Those men knew something; they knew something bad was going to happen.

She wanted to scream but it was if the air around her was sucked from her lungs as more and more people gathered to watch as the spectacular inferno spread its plumes of acrid black smoke into the oddly blue December sky.

Kelly whimpered.

“Gotta go, c’mon!” Evra hissed.

She almost had her arm yanked from its socket as her lover jerked her away from the harbour, the basket forgotten.

Victor was left behind as the women ploughed ahead, Evra shoving against the growing group of onlookers. Kelly could tell her lover was getting frustrated; no one was yielding to her, instead pushing them back and back and back.

Kelly knew that Evra was stronger than most but that she didn’t like to exercise that advantage in public lest she hurt someone by accident.

The woman began yelling for people to turn around and to leave the area, but it was practically impossible to hear her over the din of the cheers, shouting, and chatter. Those few that did hear her warning chose to ignore her, staying to witness what could possibly be an interesting highlight in their lives.

“Shit, you smell that?” Victor asked Evra as he caught up with the duo. She didn’t respond; the look on her face told Victor everything. “Don’t have t’ be so fuckin’ uppity ‘bout it.”

Kelly tugged on Evra’s hand. “What? What are you smelling?”

“Chemicals,” she replied shortly. “Jus’ keep walkin’, okay?”

She kept a firm grip on her lover’s hand and did exactly what she said.

It was 8:55 a.m.

 

* * *

 

**Victor**

 

Victor was trying hard to keep pace with the kid.

Evra was intent of getting as far away from the harbour as possible but it was getting harder and harder to push against the crowd.

He was about thirty seconds away from snarling and slashing people aside when his mate ducked into an alley, pulling Irish along behind her.

“Th’ fuck are you stopping for?” Victor demanded as he followed them in.

“Kelly twisted her ankle,” Evra said shortly. “Let her rest a minute.”

Irish was bent over, her hand on his mate’s shoulder, rubbing at her left ankle piteously. “It’s not that bad.”

Victor huffed and turned away. Fucking Irish girl, always needing Evra’s attention or her touch or her kiss. Evra was _his_ mate—HIS _—_ and he was getting bloody sick of sharing her with the stupid thing.

He looked back out onto the street and saw the fire was growing steadily by the second. Anyone who had been on the _Mont-Blanc_ had long since abandoned ship; he saw a few of the sailors bobbing in one of the lifeboats, waving their arms and obviously shouting.

No one could hear them as the burning ship slowly beached itself against the pier.

Victor grabbed Evra’s arm. “We gotta move, kid.”

It was 9:01 a.m.

 

* * *

 

**Evra**

 

Evra knew that her mate could feel her heart racing in his own chest because he was being oddly compliant. It was unsettling but at least he was putting his trust in her.

Victor wasn’t the kind of man who gave it easily, and despite the fact they’d only known each other seven months, it pleased Evra that she’d earned it.

“We gotta move, kid.” Victor’s voice was urgent.

She glanced at Kelly, the brunette giving a brief nod before slipping her arm around Evra’s shoulder.

With her lover secure and able to move, she followed Victor out of the alley, helping Kelly move out into the street.

It was 9:02 a.m.

 

* * *

 

**Victor**

 

They’d only made it a few steps when Victor saw Irish stumble.

“For fuck’s sake,” he muttered.

Evra stooped and put an arm around Kelly’s waist in order to give her lover more support, but Victor knew they were getting nowhere fast.

He turned to look at the pier and felt the ripple through his body the split second before it happened.

With a roar, Victor launched himself at Evra, shielding her body with his just as

 

 

 

Explosion

everything went white

then went dark

noise stopped

everything went white again

then dark again

dark

quiet

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dundrearies is an old-fashioned term for muttonchops or sideburns
> 
> The Halifax Disaster was one of the biggest man-made explosion before the detonation of nuclear weapons. It released appox. 2.9 kilotons of TNT (around 3,000 pounds)


	3. Any Port in a Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halifax has suffered one of the worst disasters in human history with Victor Creed and Evra Kitney caught in the middle.

 

 

It was on the sixth of December, nineteen hundred and seventeen,  
That Halifax suffered disaster, the worst she’d ever seen,  
It was five minutes after nine, those still alive can tell  
That the beautiful city of Halifax was just given a taste of hell.

-  _The Halifax Disaster_ by Unknown

 

* * *

 December 7, 1917

 

**EVRA**

 

“ – for sure dead.”

The voice cut through the dark, startling Evra.

She felt like she’d been asleep for a thousand years, her joints aching, her muscles cramped, her eyes glued shut. She tried to speak but her mouth refused to open.

“Should be, as close as he was standing to it,” said another voice. “Poor bastard; comes here to go fight a war an’ ends up buying the farm before he even gets a chance. Makes me sad. Well, toss him on the cart with the others.”

Hands were suddenly touching her, strange hands. Evra didn’t like it, tried to squirm away but her body refused to obey her orders. Was she paralyzed? There was grunting and groaning, the hands coming at her from different angles until they vanished with a frustrated sigh.

“This one’s really in there,” said the first voice. “Throw me the shovel.”

There was a sound as if her body was being peeled from the ground, a sickly wet sucking noise. Skin was torn from her body as she was rolled onto the back, her flesh having melted into the dirt.

“Christ,” groaned the first voice and Evra flopped onto her front. “He’s still holding onto someone. There’s an arm—” There was retching, followed by spitting. “I’m not gonna touch it.”

“For fuck’s sake, stop being such a woman,” the second voice snapped. “It ain’t lettin’ go of the damn thing. Just grab the body and get it on the cart!”

Evra was rolled again and lifted before being dropped none to gently into what felt like a vat of charred grapes. It was both squishy and hard, the smell of burning on the back of what was left of her tongue. Her body shifted slightly as the cart jerked forward and she tried to open her eyes to see where she was.

“Being afraid to touch a fucking arm,” muttered the second voice. “Why volunteer for pick up, then? Idiot.”

Her eyes remained closed.

 

* * *

 

**VICTOR**

 

“There is no fucking way I can move this guy all by myself,” Victor heard. “He’s _massive_. Lookit him!”

There was some shuffling and he felt at least four men crowd around him.

“Must be from the prairies,” one quipped. “Heard they grow ‘em big out there.”

The others laughed and one poked Victor’s shoulder with a sharp stick. That was unappreciated, so he let out a growl, startling the men into taking a few steps back.

“Jesus, you guys,” said an exasperated voice. “It’s just gas escaping the body, see?” A foot stomped on his chest; nothing happened. The voice muttered a curse and the foot came down once more—Victor rewarded him with another growl.

“See?” the voice said triumphantly. “For soldiers, you guys sure are pussies!”

“Yeah yeah,” grumbled another, “Shut yer yap and help me get this brute on the cart, huh?”

It seemed like a thousand hands were suddenly grabbing Victor and he didn’t like it. He leapt to his hands and knees with a roar, claws swiping blindly. There were screams and the feel of a body thudding into his hands, blood splattering his hands.

“Shit!”

“Run!”

“Jesus Christ!”

He couldn’t see.

 _He couldn’t fucking see_.

Despite that, Victor tore through the men quickly and mercilessly. He ripped and clawed and smashed and tore until there was only one left. This one he grabbed onto and held tight.

“Where am I,” he demanded, his voice hoarse and rough. His throat felt like he’d swallowed a shit ton of gravel.

The man had pissed his pants. “H-harbour,” he choked out between sobs. “H-Halifax.”

“What happened?”

His captive began crying harder. “Pl-please don’t k-kill me,” he blubbered. “I ain’t had a woman yet an’ I never been drunk before!”

“Jesus, kid. Jus’ tell me what happened,” Victor rasped, his patience thinning.

The man seemed to sense it. “Expo-explosion,” he cried. “Two ships … they collided and blew—Christ, man, you shouldn’t be alive! You should be dead!”

The sound of his captive’s voice was beginning to grate and Victor was feeling weak. “Get outta here,” he snarled. “Tell anyone what ya saw an’ I’ll find ya, do the same what I did to yer buddies.”

The man didn’t even hesitate, just put his boots to the ground and made tracks. If Victor hadn’t been feeling like he’d been trampled by a herd of horses pulling carriages, he would’ve given chase, not even give the guy a chance to make it two blocks.

However, the fact of the matter was this: he couldn’t fucking see and the feeling in his sockets told him his eyeballs had been blasted out of his goddamn head; his joints and muscles were fucked, sore and swollen to the touch; he was completely naked; Evra was nowhere close to him.

Victor couldn’t even scent her—smells were too jumbled, too blended to make out one single odour. The prevalent ones were that of chemicals, water, and death and not particularly in that order.

 _Fuck_.

There wasn’t much he could do at the moment except heal—and that would take an _a lot_ of energy. Shrugging to himself, Victor pulled the closest body towards him and begun to tear it into bite-sized chunks.

He’d need the protein and besides, why waste fresh meat? There was a war going on, y’know.

 

 

* * *

 

**EVRA**

 

Finally— _finally_ —Evra felt her eyes open.

It was white; nothing but white.

She was so stupefied that it took her a full minute to realize that a sheet had been pulled over her as if she was a corpse. It made sense once she scented the air; the dead surrounded her and she was only one of many.

Evra sat up slowly, the sheet falling from her face. She looked around and it was nothing but bodies as far as the eye could see: bloated, torn, bloodied, singed, pieces such as arms, legs, heads, and torsos.

A normal person may have been nauseated or terrified but Evra had been with Victor long enough to have seen corpses in worse condition.

 _Victor_.

She got to her feet, frantically casting her eyes about in hopes of finding her mate. Her sense of smell was useless; the odours of the deceased was too strong to make out individual smells.

“Shit.” Evra said out loud.

“The fuck was that?”

A scared voice echoed through the space and the flicker of a lantern lit up the darkness. Evra immediately dropped to the ground and jerked the sheet back over herself. She watched as the bobbing halo of light walked past her and back again.

“Christ, Dean,” said an irritated voice. “The only live ones in here is me an’ you.”

“Thought I saw this one move,” said Dean.

Evra assumed he was pointing at her. She barely managed to close her eyes before the sheet was whipped away, exposing her to the cool, damp air. One of the men knelt beside her and brought the lantern close to her face; she could feel the heat of the flame and the hissing of gas. It reminded her of the fizzle and pops just before the explosion made her world dark. She fought not to shiver.

 “Look,” said the unnamed voice. “Dead as a doornail. C’mon, get closer.”

“No.”

A finger poked her cheek. “See? Dead as can be. Ain’t no way this one’s gettin’ up any time soon.”

Poke poke poke poke poke poke poke.

“Okay,” Dean said. “I get it.”

Poke poke poke poke poke poke.

“Jesus Christ, stop it, Frank,” Dean was exasperated. “He’s _dead_. Leave the poor bastard alone, huh?”

Poke poke poke.

“That’s strange,” Frank said as he leaned closer to Evra’s face.

She willed herself to be completely still.

_Don’t breathe, don’t twitch …_

“W-what’s strange?” The terror was back in Dean’s voice.

“Body’s warm,” Frank said, leaning closer. “That means—AAARRRRHHHHHH!”

He collapsed by Evra with a sharp scream, twitching, bumping up against her body. Dean shrieked in terror and the sound hurt her ears, her hearing still sensitive from being so newly healed. Evra winced.

That gave the man something new to scream about as Frank, still laughing, got to his feet, pulling the sheet back over her.

“Facefaceface!” shouted Dean.

“Yours was hilarious!” Frank exclaimed. “That was totally worth it.”

“N-no,” the petrified man stuttered. “This one. Its face! It … moved, I swear to God!”

“For fuck’s sake, Dean. It was probably a trick of the light. Get a grip, huh?” Frank snatched up the lantern. “Let’s get back. Pete said another cartload of bodies is comin’.”

“B-b-but—”

The light began to fade, quickly bobbing away from Evra and Dean. “Best catch up, ya wuss or you’ll be alone in the dark with ol’ Twitchy Face there.”

A small squeak escaped Dead and Evra heard his panicked footsteps as he caught up to his friend.

“I can’t wait to tell Pete what a piss-pants you are!” Frank hooted, his voice dying away, Dean’s weak protests lost as they moved further out of range.

Once she could no longer hear them, Evra pushed the sheet off and sat up. Victor _had_ to be alive; she could feel the steady beat of his presence next to her own heart. It wasn’t strong as it should be but it was something. It was just matter of finding him without being able to use her senses.

But Kelly …

Her lover didn’t possess any of the strange healing powers she and Victor had. Her cuts didn’t heal immediately, her bruises didn’t fade instantly. Kelly was as vulnerable as every one of these corpses had been.

Evra got to her feet frantically, her heart in her throat. She’d been holding on to Kelly outside of the alley before the darkness came, so it made sense that her lover might be here with her, under one of these sheets.

She began feverishly jerking the cloths away from the bodies, desperate to find her lover. If she could find Kelly, at least she could say goodbye. Evra hadn’t been able to say goodbye to Jasmine, her sweet red-headed girl.

She hadn’t been able to find Jasmine’s body before she and Victor had to flee and Victor never told her where he’d left the girl’s body. She had betrayed Evra, he’d said, the bitch was better off dead and gone rather than meddling in their business.

Jasmine had betrayed her, yes, but that didn’t mean Evra didn’t feel for her any less. The beautiful girl had been sunshine in her arms, pure and sweet. The least she could have done was lay Jasmine to rest.

Because of that, Evra couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Kelly behind in this ad hoc morgue, surrounded by strangers and gloominess. Her lovely grey-eyed Irish lass had put up with too much the past seven months to end up in a place like this.

Each sheet she wrenched away revealed an unfamiliar face, each one a person who had lived and loved and had friends and families and secrets but were now nothing but a cold, empty corpse.

She became more and more hysterical, panting for air as she moved down line after line, face after face, body after body. Tears streamed silently down Evra’s face as she reached the last body and revealed its face: yet another stranger.

Her lover wasn’t here.

It meant one of two things: Kelly’s corpse was somewhere else or she was possibly alive.

The latter cheered her slightly as Evra pulled on the clothes she’d snitched from the dead, sent up a quick thanks to whichever god was working that day and let herself carefully out the back.

It was getting to be evening and the streets were empty. She could hear the sounds of people shouting and moving a few blocks over; they were obviously clearing the streets and looking for survivours.

The destruction hadn’t reached the area where Evra was walking but winter had. Snow blanketed the ground and the nice, warm days were gone, replaced by a chill that she felt down into her bones. The crisp white crunched under her boots as she made her way back to Mrs. Jordan’s boarding house but it escaped her notice.

Evra should find Victor first. The little beat in her chest was hard to ignore; it would pull her towards her mate, distracting her from any other undertaking until they were in each other’s arms.

After they were reunited, Evra would start the search for Kelly. Victor would have something to say about it but she didn’t care. He owed her for Jasmine and besides, she’d never needed Victor’s permission to do anything,

She sure as hell wasn’t going start now.

 

* * *

 

**VICTOR**

 

Everywhere Victor turned was chaos.

Smoke drifting lazily into the sky from numerous places, rubbles and body parts in the streets, animal carcasses laid out almost obscenely on the cobblestones. He wasn’t sure how many carts of the dead had been hauled past him, pulled either by man or beast.

He’d managed to find a few clothes in a decimated tailor’s shop, pants and a shirt, but shoes his size eluded him and he was forced to walk barefoot in the snow.

A woman had found him wandering the streets and had coaxed him into a nearby warehouse, one of the few that was still standing. It was filled with the injured, the moans and cries walking the knife’s edge of Victor’s patience.

The woman had tied a strip of cloth of his eyes and told him he wasn’t the only one who’d lost his vision; many people looking out of their windows had been blinded when the explosion shattered the glass into their faces. Of course, she said, that was infinitely better than those whose heads had been blown off while leaning over their panes to get a better view.

Victor repressed a morbid chuckle.

She then pressed a cup of hot tea into his hands and went off to tend to a few others before returning with a bowl of warm stew. “I know it’s not much,” she said, “but you need something to warm your insides.”

The smell of kindness oozed from the woman despite the scents of blood and misery in the air. Victor found himself despising the odd mix; it reminded him of the room where Doctor Remy Laurent had plied his trade and had also nursed an infatuation for Evra. The memory of the man triggered a small growl that had the woman rushing back to his side, thinking he was in pain.

_Evra._

Victor let the woman fuss around him as his mind drifted back to his mate. He knew she was alive thanks to the small thump in his chest, but he couldn’t help but wonder if she was badly wounded. Would she need meat to heal? Would she heal properly?

He needed to find Evra; he wouldn’t rest until he could hold her again, breathe in her scent. His mate needed him.

Victor thrust the empty bowl at the woman and stood. “Shoes,” he growled at her.

Her scent changed from kind to alarmed. “I don’t have anything that will fi—”

“Wrappings then,” he demanded. “Somethin’ to cover my feet.”

“You can’t go back out there,” she said. “There’s snow on the ground and a worse storm on the way. You’re safe here.”

He reached out and snagged her arm, bringing her close to his face. “Get me somethin’ for my feet, frail, or no one’ll be safe here. Get it?”

Terrified, she backed away and returned a few minutes later with strips of leather and cloth. Bending towards his feet, she said, “I know you’re not a bad man; this catastrophe has made a lot of good people angry. God will provide and all will be right again.”

Victor wrenched the binding from her hands and leaned down to her, stretching his lips over his sharp teeth. “There ain’t no god,” he hissed, “but you’re right about me not bein’ a bad man—I ain’t; I’m the worst kinda bastard you’re ever gonna meet.”

He pushed her aside and headed for the door, the strips dangling from his fingers. His eye sockets were beginning to tingle, which was good news. Growing his eyes back would hurt like a son of a bitch but he didn’t care.

All Victor cared about was finding Evra. He put his nose to the air and once he centred himself, he started heading towards Mrs. Jordan’s boarding house. Hopefully the old biddy’d still be alive and maybe whip him up some roast beef sandwiches.

Extra horseradish on his.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1,600 people were killed instantly in the explosion
> 
> 9,000 people were injured, 300 of whom later died of their injuries
> 
> 12,000 buildings were destroyed or damaged badly (2.6 KM radius)
> 
> The shank (or stem) of the Mont-Blanc's anchor (which weighed half a ton) was found 3.2 KM away
> 
> The explosion momentarily exposed the habour's bottom. The tsunami that washed in to cover it rose over 18 metres (60 ft) high
> 
> 160 hectares (400 acres) of the city was destroyed


	4. Salt Water and Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few days after the disaster find Victor and Evra working their way towards each other. Once they do, will others be swept away?

“if   
the ocean   
can calm itself,   
so can you.  
we   
are both   
salt water   
mixed with   
air.”   
― Nayyirah Waheed

 

* * *

 December 8, 1917

 

**Kelly**

 

Kelly’s bright white world exploded into the blood red of torment.

She tried screaming but she couldn’t draw in enough air to make a sound; instead it felt as if liquid erupted from her mouth every time she opened it. Her limbs jerked willy nilly because she couldn’t control them on her own.

“We got a live one here!”

The sound of grinding assaulted her ears, people shouting and grunting, until ivory light burned in front of her eyes.

“There’s blood! It’s missing an arm; someone grab the doc!”

There was more shuffling, a cool cloth being pressed to her face, wiping away the tears and grime that covered her face. More shouts: the doctor needed someone to lift her carefully while he applied a bandage.

It was the worst pain Kelly ever felt in her life but she was unable to articulate it, unable to make words work, so she opened her mouth in a silent scream, new tears dampening the cloth on her cheeks.

“ _Dieu merci_ ,” whispered an accented voice close to her face. “I can’ believe you’re alive, _chérie_. You are a small miracle.”

Kelly blinked a few times, the dryness gone from her eyes, and she was able to focus on the man leaning over her. He had a kind, gentle smile, his cheeks and jaw dabbled with dark stubble.

“ _Bonjour_ ,” he said as he stroked her hair back from her face. “You must have an angel lookin’ out for you, _oui_?”

 _Evra_ , Kelly thought.

“I’m gonna give you somethin’ to help wit’ da pain, then we gon’ move you somewhere more comfortable. Sound good, _chérie_?”

She didn’t feel the needle as it pricked her skin but within a few moments, the blood red world faded back to bright white and she felt herself smile.

 

* * *

 

**Evra**

Evra hissed as she pressed a handful of snow to her chest. It was slushy, wet, and fucking freezing but she had no other option to wash the smell of the dead from her skin.

The clothes she taken from the corpses in the warehouse lay discarded further up the alley, soaking in a puddle of brown sludge, the filthy water lapping against them as the wind whipped down the path in a flurry.

She wasn’t sorry to say to say goodbye to outfit. The scent of the dead clinging to her as she slogged her way through the city had been foul and nauseating. Nothing Evra did—spraying herself in perfume, rubbing coal dust on the fabric, or even rolling in horse shit—got rid of the odour, so she figured it must be clinging to her flesh.

An abandoned clothesline had beckoned to her from the alley, filled with dresses and shirts and socks that hadn’t been soaked and frozen by the cold. She would prefer to pull on the trousers and a shirt, but she’d lost her binding somewhere along the way and couldn’t find anything that would do the trick.

The wind whipped up, a small dust devil whirling by the entrance to the laneway. There was a storm coming; Evra could smell it. She’d have to be quick if she wanted to get to Mrs. Jordan’s before it hit.

If the townhouse was still standing, that is.

Mrs. Jordan’s was close to the area of devastation—there was no way it escaped minor damage, at least.

A haphazard wipe with a black sock soaked up most of the wetness from her skin and she wiggled into an ankle length skirt and a long-sleeved blouse. A kerchief went around her head to hide her military cut and a wool shawl tucked around her shoulders would keep most of the chill out. She shoved her feet back into the shoes she’d pilfered; they fit well enough and the death stink wasn’t all that prevalent.

Evra pulled the shawl up around her neck and scurried out into the street. It was still oddly silent up here, the houses eerily empty. The lack of people and light was distressing. She couldn’t help but wonder how many of the area’s residents had lost their lives? How many were down by the harbour, helping pull out bodies or finding survivors despite the blistering cold and threat of a storm?

She should go down there and help, maybe use her healing powers to ease pain or heal a wound. The thought made her stop; she could be useful, not someone who left a trail of blood behind her as she made her way through the world.

The next step she took had her falling to one knee as her foot skidded on a snow-covered patch of ice. As Evra got to her feet, a blast of chill air pulled at her headscarf and she put a quick hand to her head as she rose … and almost gasped at the sign off to her right.

St. Victor’s Catholic Church.

 _Victor_.

Evra wasn’t a superstitious or god-fearing person but she ended up crossing herself as she hurried past the abandoned church, the coloured glass murky and ominous.

She was sure it wouldn’t be the last time she fell on her knees before Victor, but there was no reason to tempt fate.

 

* * *

 

**Victor**

 

Grumbling, Victor nailed the last board in place.

The windows facing the pier had shattered, and the explosion had knocked some of Mrs. Jordan’s prized porcelain figures to the floor, shattering them beyond repair, but that was the worst of the damage other than some cosmetic issues with the brickwork.

Mrs. Jordan and Heather O’Shane had been lucky enough to have been in the back of the house when the blast had occurred; they received only minor cuts, most of which occurred whilst they were sweeping up the glass.

He’d been put to work as soon as he’d arrived on the doorstep. Of course, his eyes had healed before he’d set foot in the place. It would have been far, _far_ better to be waited on hand and foot by the old biddies instead of being put to work like some kind of rented mule.

The sky was rapidly darkening, the winds gusting down the streets bringing garbage and other detritus with it. It was howling hard enough to jangle the nerves of both the widow and Kelly’s aunt.

The ladies had flitted around the house for a few hours like nervous birds, each one agitating the other until they finally erupted in frustrated tears and fled to their respective bedrooms. Victor was grateful for the silence.

He hung the last quilt then immediately pushed it aside so he could see through one of the small gaps in the wood. He found himself getting unnerved by Evra’s continued absence.

Her sweet little beat was thumping soundly in his chest. She was alive and well; he knew that, so where the fuck was she? Anger rolled over him and he clenched his hand into a fist, letting his claws grow just enough to slice the flesh of his palm.

The pain made Victor hiss as the blood dripped one, two, three, four, five times before the wound closed. He growled and did it again, deeper this time. He wanted more blood, more pain.

Right now, he needed the sting to move the ache from his heart to his hand to give him something to focus on rather than his missing mate. He made himself bleed in order to feel anything other than the all-consuming passion he felt for Evra.

Victor had never met another person in his entire life who made him feel the things she did—not even Jimmy. There was a time he thought Jimmy was the _only_ one he needed; now he wasn’t sure. He still had dreams of the both Evra and Jimmy blending and blurring together and it filled him with a passion he didn’t think he was capable of.

Why did he crave them both? Was it their strength? Did Victor want to possess them both so he could be in charge of that power, control it?

With another small growl, he lifted his bloody hand to his mouth and licked it away. He’d had enough; if Evra wasn’t coming to him, he’d go to her.

Victor was about to drop the blanket back into place when a black spot in the middle of all the white caught his attention. It was small, hunched over against the wind, moving at a ferocious pace, single-minded in its attempt to get where it was going.

Evra’s spot in his chest palpitated once, hard enough to knock the breath from Victor’s lungs. He was at the door before she was, holding it open, peering into the hard, white pellets.

He didn’t care that the wind was howling through the house, the snow ticking quietly on the hardwood floor. It was Evra; he knew it. His heart beat faster and faster the closer she came until he was practically snarling with desperation, the need to have his mate pressed against him to recover her with his scent.

Her head was down as she approached, giving Victor time to run an eye over her. A long skirt, a long-sleeved blouse, kerchief over her hair. She lifted her head and smiled; she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“You gonna let me in?” Evra asked softly. “It’s freezin’ out here.”

Victor grabbed and lifted her, his mouth colliding hungrily with hers. She let out a small moan, her arms around his neck, skirt riding up her thighs as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

She _was_ cold, so he pulled her closer to his body, purring mellifluously as she happily wriggled against him. The kiss deepened as she opened her mouth for him. The heat of it was lightning through Victor’s body; he needed Evra and he needed her _now_.

He turned, slamming and locking the door behind him as he pulled back slightly to see her face; she was exactly the same, the bright green eyes that never missed a trick, the freckles across her small nose, the cupid’s bow lips he could never get enough of.

Victor pulled the shawl from Evra’s shoulders while he carried her to the kitchen table and sat, sliding her so that she straddled his lap, hands dropping to grip her round ass. She gasped into his mouth, her fingers stroking the buttons of his shirt.

“What took you so long, kid?” he murmured against her cheek.

She chuckled, tucking her face in the crook of his shoulder. “Got here as soon as I could, boss.”

“Not soon enough.” Victor yanked her blouse from her skirt and slid his hands under the garment, needing to feel her skin. “Still cold.”

He felt Evra smile against his neck. “Then warm me up.”

It was his turn to chuckle as he grasped her heavy breasts, drawing another low groan from her. Fuck, it was good just to be able to _feel_ them instead of having to unwrap what felt like miles and miles of binding. He squeezed and she ground herself down on him--it obviously felt just as good for her.

One hand dropped to find the hem of Evra’s skirt, slowly skimming it up her thighs, stopping when he reached the sweet heat that emanated between her legs. She whimpered and went completely still in his grip.

She released her shield, washing Victor in the scents of summer-ripe raspberries and freshly turned soil; it was beautifully honied with the perfume of her arousal. He breathed it in deeply, greedily, before he stroked a finger lightly over her clit.

“Oh my god, Victor,” Evra breathed, grabbing at his hair.

He applied a little more pressure and a little more and a little more until her hips were bucking involuntary against his touch. When she began to keen softly in his ear, he forgot about everything other than his mate’s immediate pleasure.

Irish, the old biddies, the explosion, being blown apart and blinded, all of it flew from Victor’s mind as Evra started to shudder with desire because _he_ was the one bringing her to ultimate pleasure, _he_ was the one who had control over her body.

All he could focus on was Evra’s closeness, her scent, the feeling of her, the frantic need to reclaim her. Her gasps and moans were the only thing he could hear as she quivered against him, starting her climax.

 “Mr. Creed, I heard a—oh my Lord!”

At the sound of the voice—the threat—Victor let out a warning growl, immediately tucking Evra’s head back into the crook of his shoulder, his other arm clamping around her waist to pull her close to his body. His mate was vulnerable as she crested; the need to protect her was instinct.

There was a moment of silence as Mrs. Jordan eyed the scene: the woman whimpering in Victor’s arms, the position in which the couple sat, the sight of Evra’s skirt hiked up to her thighs.

“Well, I expected this kind of behaviour from you eventually, Mr. Creed, but not now,” huffed the widow furiously. “Imagine bringing a whore into _my_ house! During a disaster of this magnitude! How could y—”

“This whore is my _wife_ ,” Victor snarled.

Evra tensed in his embrace; he hadn’t meant for that to come out of his mouth but it was the first idea that came to mind. Besides, it wasn’t as if they hadn’t played husband and wife before.

“Your wife?” Mrs. Jordan scoffed. “Never once have you mentioned you were wed!”

“How is my bein’ married any of your business?” he retorted angrily.

The widow flushed a fascinating shade of purple at Victor’s curt response. As she huffed and sputtered, Evra slid from Victor’s lap and stood, smoothing her skirt down. He hoped she could feel his eyes on her as he willed her to play along. The last thing they needed was to be kicked out of a safe, warm place into the blistering cold of an oncoming storm.

The movement caught Mrs. Jordan’s attention and she clapped her eyes on the younger woman. “And what do _you_ have to say for yourself, girl? Best be honest, missy; I know when someone is spouting untruths.”

“My name is Evra,” his mate replied quietly, her gaze meeting Mrs. Jordan’s unabashedly. “I’m Victor’s wife.”

 

* * *

 

**Kelly**

 

It felt as if an eternity had passed before Kelly was able to open her eyes again.

She was a giant oozing, weeping blister of agony: her chest heavy and sore, her right shoulder hot and cold and wet all at the same time, her left arm skinned and red. The right side of her face felt smashed and bruised and everything was numb from her waist down.

Sounds of the wounded surrounded her, the moans, groans, and cries making her hot and uncomfortable. The undeniable scents of sick, shit, and piss all mixed together to make one awful stench that turned Kelly’s stomach.

Men and women who she thought were nurses or doctors flitted in and out, wiping faces and asses, changing bandages and bed sheets, administering medicine or last rites.

The man next to Kelly seemed to be in the process of receiving God’s final blessing. The priest was undeterred by the sick man’s thrashing and gagging, his soothing voice droning the words as he prayed for God’s infinite mercy.

Just as the cleric traced the sign of the cross on the man’s forehead, he let out a loud, unsettling wheeze, his body relaxing onto the cot as his spirit left his body. The priest finished the prayer, kissed the bible, then pulled the bed sheet up over the man’s face.

He turned and went to walk past Kelly, stopping when he took in her scared and sweating face. “Do you believe in God, my child?”

She could say or do nothing except tremble as her eyes darted back and forth between the priest and the dead man in the bed beside her. His smile was gentle as he opened his bible and placed a hand on her leg.

“Peace I leave with you; My peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.”

Kelly wished she could feel the priest’s hand on her knee, she wished she could feel the peace and courageousness he was imparting to her, or at least the warmth of his kind act, but she felt absolutely nothing.

Tears began to leak from her eyes.

The priest gave her another kind smile before leaning down to draw the cross on her forehead. “Bless you, my child.”

Kelly’s tears didn’t stop as he left her alone, feeling hollow and meaningless. She didn’t want God to fill her with peace and love, she wanted Evra. Wherever her lover was, Kelly hoped that Evra was coming to find her, to take her from this awful place.

_Don’t let me die here alone._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dieu Merci - Thank God (French)
> 
> Cherie - My Darling (French)
> 
> Bonjour - Hello (French)
> 
> Oui - Yes (French)
> 
> Any mistakes in the translations are strictly my own fault.
> 
> The passage the priest reads is John 14:27
> 
> On Dec. 7th, the day after the explosion, wind gusts were measured at 90 KM/hr, with temperatures dropping to -15C with the wind chill.
> 
> Blizzard-like conditions hampered relief efforts in and around the cities, delaying trains from Boston and Eastern Canada. Many were still trapped under rubble and thousands were homeless while the storm raged around them.
> 
> By the end of the day, an estimated 40 cm (over 1 foot) had fallen.


	5. Adjusting the Sails

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor and Evra wait out the storm while Kelly feels like she's going insane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are welcome!

Heavy hearts, like heavy clouds in the sky,

are best relieved by the letting of a little water.

\- Christopher Morely

 

* * *

 

 

**Evra**

 

A few seconds passed after Evra’s confession before Mrs. Jordan started fumbling with the ridiculous Pince-nez glasses she kept tucked in her décolletage and brought them to her face, pinching them to her nose.

Once they were settled, the widow raked her gaze over Evra meticulously, taking in every inch. If she were more bashful, the intense study would have made her flush as Mrs. Jordan’s eyes lingered over her hips and breasts.

“You are _quite_ small for a man his size,” the landlady said matter-of-factly, “but you have nice wide hips; they’ll serve you well when you’re with child.”

Surprised at the old woman’s brazenness, Evra tried to stammer a response but she continued on, unconcerned: “You bear quite a resemblance to Mr. Kitney, who has been boarding here,” Mrs. Jordan said, looking at Evra over the rim of her glasses. “I assume you are his sister.”

“Yes, ma’am. Twin sister.”

The woman looked Evra over one more time. “No need to call me ‘ma’am’, child; Mrs. Jordan will do.” The widow stepped forward to take Evra’s hand in her own and squeezed it gently. She glanced quickly at Victor before looking into the younger woman’s eyes. “It’s not my wish to distress you during your reunion with your husband, but your brother has not yet returned. I’ve been praying for his safety.”

The scent of sadness mixed with hope was soothing to Evra. She smiled kindly at the older woman and squeezed back. “Thank you. Evan spoke very highly of you in his letters,” she said. “I can see why.”

Mrs. Jordan crepe-like cheeks blushed lightly and she dropped her eyes, suddenly shy in the face of Evan’s praise. “He’s a lovely man, very considerate.”

A moment of silence followed only to be broken as Victor cleared his throat and stood. He snagged Evra’s elbow. “If yer done singin’ th’ glory of Evan, I’m takin’ my wife upstairs t’ talk,” he said roughly. “Don’t disturb us.”

The widow removed her glasses, securing them on the collar of her dress with a put-upon harrumph. “I’ll be preparing something to eat in a few hours. If you don’t come down, I will not reheat it.”

He stopped in front of Mrs. Jordan, leaning down until his countenance was an inch from hers. “Then we’ll jus’ eat it cold,” he growled softly.

The two stared at each other; Evra could almost see the battle of wills between the feral male and old woman. It didn’t last too long; after a few moments, Mrs. Jordan dropped her eyes and spun away from Victor with a huff. She left the kitchen, disappearing from sight, leaving the two alone.

When Evra was sure the widow was out of hearing range, she lifted her head to look at her mate. “I’m gonna go find Kelly when the weather clears.”

Victor’s face twisted. “You fuckin’ kiddin’ me? There ain’t no fuckin’ way I’m crawlin’ over all that searchin’ for th’ dumb slit.” He jerked her to his body, leaning down to brush his lips against her ear. “An’ if I ain’t mistaken, it weren’t Irish makin’ _yer_ slit wet a few minutes ago.”

Evra’s body warmed considerably as her mate wrapped his large hand around the back of her neck. She closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of him, that heady mix of wood smoke and lightening.

Soothing and dangerous at the same time.

He extended his claws, scraping them gently along her hairline as his mouth captured hers, swallowing her groan of desire. A little bit of pain, a little bit of pleasure—that’s what Evra could look forward to in the beautiful hands of Victor Creed.

“I ain’t askin’ for your say-so,” she murmured against his lips. “I’m doin’ it an’ don’t give a good goddamn if you help me or not.”

His lust took on an acrid tang as red-hot rage washed over her. It almost burned her with its intensity, but Evra let it cover her like a blanket as Victor yanked her up the stairs towards their shared bedroom.

Their time apart truly had ramped up her need for him; her eagerness had led to them being discovered, something she tried to be cautious of due to their penchant to mix sex and violence.

There had been exceptions, of course—Marie Pendleton had been a necessary evil. The girl set her eyes of Victor and Evra didn’t appreciate someone trying to trespass on her claim, so she’d enticed Victor into sex so virginal Marie could see what the man was capable of. The young woman’s lust cooled enough to ensure that her mate had gotten rid of her eventually … and permanently.

Victor shoved her into the bedroom, slamming the door loudly the second he was past the jamb. “I shoulda just fuckin’ killed her. Shoulda made her dead when I did Marie, then we wouldn't have Irish fuckin’ up our shit. I dunno why I let you take her along; said I was gonna kill her if you showed up with her an’—”

His tirade faded as Evra slipped off her shoes and reached for the hook at the back of her skirt. She pushed it down over her hips, letting it pool at her feet. Stepping out of it, she lifted her fingers to the buttons of her blouse, which was just barely long enough to cover her backside.

Victor cleared his throat as he came back to himself, remembering his anger. “Girl’s as dumb as fuck anyways,” he continued, his voice gruff. “She woulda latched onto any mook comin’ this way that was stupid enough t’ fall for her shit. Didn’t have t’ be you, y’know, but you’re a damned soft touch an’ I dunno why I put up—"

The first few buttons popped easily, exposing her unbound cleavage. His eyes were glued to her as she sat on the bed, smoothing the sheet under her free hand.

Evra slid the blouse off over her shoulders, his hungry gaze travelling along the flesh of her bare neck and collarbone. She wasn’t wearing a brassiere, which he recalled from earlier, and his eyes darted to where the tops of her breasts should have been on display.

Victor let out a low growl when he discovered they weren’t. He stalked towards the bed, focused and impatient. His voice was low and dangerous as he spoke. “Goddammit, Evra.”

“I’m gonna find her. I don’t care if she’s alive or dead—I ain’t leavin’ until I say goodbye.”

His amber eyes—once cracking with anger—were now alive with a ravenous hunger meant only for her. He placed a knee beside her on the mattress and took her shoulders in his large hands, the claws pricking her skin gently.

“Do whatever you fuckin’ want; jus’ lemme have ya.” His voice was strained as he released her to push his suspenders off. Victor’s lips crashed against hers, his barbed tongue insistent as it demanded entrance. He hooked the kerchief with a claw and tugged it from her head, casting it aside.

Evra dealt with the last few buttons on her blouse as his hands roamed the rest of her body, stroking her flesh in ways that never failed to fuel the blaze of her longing. He knew _exactly_ how and where to touch, how much or how little pressure—he also knew when to use his claws and he did so now, digging them into her plump backside in order to grind against her.

“Why do I let you fuckin’ sass me so much?” Victor growled, his lips caressing the skin of her neck.

“You love it.” She gave a roguish smile just before he kissed her, his barbed tongue greedy and hungry.

Evra gasped his name and he swallowed her cry as his mouth pushed her back onto the bed as he advanced, wedging his knee between her legs so they splayed open, his groin nestled against hers.

She could feel the heat of his erection as he rubbed his hips slowly on her, his mouth attacking her lips, nipping and licking, making her moan. He reached down to release his cock from his trousers; he didn’t waste time with teasing or annoying her, instead pushing himself into her as far as he could go with a low and hungry growl.

Victor broke the kiss, watching Evra’s face as he started to thrust, filling her to the brim with each stroke, his amber eyes eager. The starched fabric of his shirt scraping her bare nipples was an amazing new sensation that soon had her breathless.

Evra’s whole body was one giant exposed nerve, each part where his flesh touched hers was almost painful but he was so intense, so amazing that he had her gasping, practically begging for anything and everything he could give her.

 “Want ya t’ scream when ya come,” Victor panted. “We don’t gotta be quiet now an’ I want th’ nosy ol’ biddy t’ know how hard yer gettin’ fucked under her roof.”

“Then fuck me harder,” Evra growled, snapping her hips up to crash against his. “I ain’t gonna lie t’ th’ woman.”

His handsome face lit up with a sinful smile that made her shiver. “Still a greedy girl,” he chuckled.

“ _Your_ greedy girl,” she responded with the same sinful grin, gasping as he changed the angle of his thrusts.

“That’s right,” Victor purred. “Don’t you ever forget that.”

Evra didn’t ever think she could as he fucked fiercer into her, almost brutally, the sound of their slapping flesh, groans, and snarls filling the small room as he pushed her closer and closer to the edge.

When she finally did come, she made sure Victor’s name was loud and shameless on her lips.

 

* * *

 

**Dr. Remy Laurent**

“Doctor!” came a shrill, panicked voice. “We need you in the third room!”

Remy sat up immediately and shoved a hand through his short hair. He’d had it cut once he’d come to Halifax.

People here didn’t take too kindly to a doctor with long hair and he had to keep reminding himself he was no longer in Fort McMurray. Halifax was a metropolis compared to the few hundred people who made their home in Alberta’s frozen north.

He shouldn’t have come here.

“Doctor!”

“Coming,” Remy called as he stood, yanking his shirt on before grumbling sotto voice: “ _Zut alors_.”

He was fumbling with the buttons of his shirt as he stumbled out of the small room with a large yawn, almost bumping into Father Martin.

“ _Pardon, mon Pére_ ,” Remy murmured.

“Quite alright, my son,” replied the priest with a smile. “We’ve lost another soul in ward three, fourth room. The young lady next to him was quite frightened so perhaps you could spare her some time, assuage an upset individual? My prayer did little to help, I’m afraid.”

He sighed and pushed a hand through his hair. “I’ll try, Father,” he said. “Gotta deal wit’ an emergency in t’ird room first.”

“Bless you, Remy.” The priest gave him a kind smile and squeezed his shoulder before walking away.

The doctor watched him go, wondering how a man could keep such piety when everything around him was crumbling to hell. The irony in his thought twisted the knife in his gut and he ran his hand over his face.

Didn’t Remy have a certain strange devoutness in hoping Evra Kitney would come to love him, even when his own world was crumbling to hell?

He possessed the devotion of a stupid, heartsick man who should have known better. He’d come all the way to Halifax hoping to catch a glimpse of her, like she was some sort of saint and he was her most dedicated follower.

Remy shouldn’t have come here.

“Doctor, hurry!”                                             

“ _Mon_ Dieu, I’m _coming_!”

He hurried towards the third room, desperate for something that would help him think of someone else other than a woman with green eyes and rust-coloured hair—the woman who owned his heart.

 

* * *

 

**Kelly**

 

Kelly felt like a frightened filly; every little noise made her jump, from the sneeze of another patient to the clatter of a bedpan.

Every little noise could be Victor Creed, coming to kill her now that she crippled and vulnerable, now that she was of no value to Evra.

She hadn’t been able to close her eyes since the man next to her died, since the body was wrapped in a dirty sheet and taken God-knows-where, because every time she did, all she could see was Marie Pendleton’s face.

Kelly wasn’t stupid—she knew that young woman was dead. She hadn’t been mentioned at all since they left that abandoned little cabin in the woods and Kelly hadn’t had the nerve to bring it up.

Marie had been truly beautiful but naïve in the ways of the world thanks to her sheltered and loving upbringing. She hadn’t known that travelling with Victor and Evra meant you had to pay for their protection, whether through sex or money, it didn’t matter.

The young woman had been attracted to Victor, making sweet and timid advances towards the large blond, like that alone would garner his favour. Evra hadn’t liked that, and after the fight on the train, decided Marie had to go.

All her lover had to do was point out that the pretty young blonde hadn’t been paying her way and a man like Victor Creed had no problem taking the hint. He’d taken Marie out into the woods and … well, Kelly didn’t like to think about that.

She was terrified that she was next, that the cruel and sadistic man would come for her, kill her in some sick and brutal way because she was no longer useful to Evra.

It wasn’t like her lover would demand it, but Kelly knew that Victor couldn’t stand her, and while she was obviously _something_ to Evra, he’d made it clear that Kelly was nothing but an ongoing annoyance that he would gladly get rid of given the opportunity.

And here it was--all he had to do was find her and it was all over.

Marie’s body wasn’t taken away by kind strangers. Marie’s body wasn’t wrapped in a sheet—dirty or otherwise—after going to her final rest. Marie’s body was left mutilated, cold and alone, in some forest for the bugs and predators to eat.

Kelly was going to die here.

 

* * *

 

**Victor**

 

It was dark when Victor went down the stairs, crossed the common room, and went into the kitchen.

He’d left the lantern in the room with Evra—he didn’t need it. Honestly, he liked the way her flesh looked in the flickering orange light. It also felt different under his hands, like he was stoking a low-burning flame into something large and beautiful.

Victor knew the old biddy would leave something out for them to eat and he wasn’t wrong—a pile of sandwiches awaited on the counter, covered thoughtfully by a clean tea towel to stop the bread from getting hard. Mrs. Jordan had a reputation to maintain and she wasn’t going to let her only two guests go hungry.

It was strange to be the only two boarders in the house. When he and Evra had first arrived, the place was packed with men getting ready to be shipped off and young women working the jobs that the men were leaving behind.

Now it was practically deserted, not that Victor minded. He’d hated that Evra had to keep telling him to be conscious of the other people in the house when all he wanted to do was tear her clothes off and fuck her senseless.

He chuckled to himself as he thought of her now in bed, contented and purring lightly, shiny with blood, sweat, spit, and come. She’d whimpered when he’d gotten out of bed to pull his trousers on, her hands reaching for him, wanting more.

“Need food, kid,” Victor had smiled before dropping a kiss to her cheek. “Gotta keep that strength up.”

She had huffed impatiently. “Hurry back.”

He’d intended to.

Victor flicked the tea towel aside, picking up one of the sandwiches. Roast beef, lettuce, and tomatoes. Extra horseradish. The corner of his lip lifted in a quick huff of laughter before he lifted one to his mouth.

“ _Mister_ Creed.”

Her voice was whip-sharp and caught Victor off guard. He dropped the sandwich onto the counter and whirled to face Mrs. Jordan with a snarl, surprised that she’d managed to walk up behind him without his notice. He must’ve been wearier than he thought.

The widow stood in a rich purple bathrobe, her hair rolled up in paper bags and pinned tightly to her head, a crepe scarf covering the greying locks. The small Pince-nez glasses were perched on her nose, her arms crossed over her chest.

“How long are we to keep up the charade that Evan Kitney and your ‘wife’ are not one and the same?” she asked archly. “I have not let Ms. O’Shane in on my suspicions; she seems pleased that you have a wife—I’ll never know why—so she will remain ignorant for the time being.”

Victor subtly scented Mrs. Jordan; the woman was being honest—she knew Evra was pretending but that didn’t mean he was going to be forthcoming. “How d’you figure?”

Mrs. Jordan stepped closer to him and snagged a sandwich from the platter. She took a dainty bite and chewed, a far off look on her face. When she had swallowed, she reached up and removed the glasses, tucking them into the robe’s pocket.

“You’re not a stupid man, Mr. Creed, nor am I a stupid woman,” the widow said. “You and your … Evra have certain attributes that I recognise; you are not like regular humans—you are feral, both alphas, I believe.”

Victor didn’t respond and didn’t move, not wanting to give anything away. He picked up the sandwich he’d dropped earlier and crammed it in his mouth.

“I myself am slightly different,” Mrs. Jordan continued. “Sometimes the thoughts of other people flash inside my head; that’s one of the main reasons I deduced Evan was not as he presented himself. The other, Mr. Creed, is that you think of her quite often in the nude. It’s _extremely_ distracting.”

“Why not say somethin’ then?” Victor asked, grabbing another sandwich.

The widow snorted derisively. “It’s not in my best interest to alienate my boarders or to _out_ them for lack of a better term,” she said. “I chose to believe Evra’s lie because … well, because she reminds me of someone, a person I knew a long time ago—a real strong woman who didn’t suffer fools, was a crack shot with a rifle, and a real wonderful ki—”

Mrs. Jordan ceased talking abruptly, the heat of a bush working its way over her neck and face. She cleared her throat and looked up into Victor’s face, her own features soft and affectionate from remembering her old lover.

“Suffice it to say, she was very special—and not just to me. It’s imperative you keep your Evra safe, Mr. Creed. There are those who would come and tear her from you, hurt her, turn her into someone you no longer recognise.”

“I ain’t gonna let anyone or anythin’ hurt her, ever,” Victor growled.

Mrs. Jordan smiled up at him and was reaching out to touch his arm when a sleepy and gentle Irish lilt came from the shadows: “Dorie, when are you comin’ back t’ bed? It’s awful cold in here without you.”

Suddenly, the old woman’s aloof demeanour snapped back, and she dropped her hand. “Quiet, Heather or you’ll wake the others,” she whispered harshly.

There was the soft click of a door shutting and Mrs. Jordan turned and began to walk quickly away from Victor. Halfway to her bedroom, she stopped and faced him, her gaze firm and unashamed.

“As you see, Mr. Creed, you’re not the only one with secrets to keep and someone to protect.”

Victor gave a brief nod and a smile ghosted the widow’s lips before she joined Ms. O’Shane in their shared room. He was left alone, a half-eaten sandwich in one hand and a very special woman waiting upstairs.

He grabbed the platter, balancing it carefully as he made his way back to Evra because right here, right now, this was the best way he could take care of her and Victor would take care of her as long as he drew breath.

 

* * *

 

**Evra**

 

The early morning light was grey thanks to the clouds lingering over the city, but it did little to mute the golden handsomeness of Victor Creed.

He was standing nude and completely unselfconscious in front of the boarded bedroom window as he held back the blanket and peered out of the slats. Evra admired his toned body, the lines of his thighs, the globes of his ass.

On the train to Halifax—before they’d been kicked off—one of the Chinese men had drawn her a picture of a lion, and as he stood before the window, Victor brought to mind the majestic and powerful creature, bold and strong, fierce and magnificent.

 “Better stop thinkin’ what you’re thinkin’,” he growled teasingly. “Keep smellin’ like that and we ain’t gonna be leavin’ this room.”

Evra toyed with the idea of remaining in bed with Victor another day, indulging in the wonder of his body, but instead slowly lowered her shield back in place. It was one more day Kelly couldn’t afford for her to waste.

Victor huffed as her scent vanished, his eyes remaining glued to the window. “’Bout a foot of snow out there, kid,” he said gruffly. “Still wanna go for Irish? Could be mayhem out there now that the storm’s passed.”

She sighed and rolled onto her back, pulling the sheet up to her chest. He’d been trying to make her forget about the idea all night, mostly by distracting her with his intense heat, his great need for her.

“Meant what I said earlier, Victor. I’m goin’ an’ I don’t give a shit what you do.” Evra was annoyed but she couldn’t help but let her gaze travel over him once more.

He turned towards her with a smirk, smoothing one large hand down his powerful thigh; her eyes followed it hungrily. “Seems like you _do_ give a shit what I do,” he said as he prowled towards the bed, “as long as what I’m doin’ is _you_.”

Victor whipped the sheet from her and carefully, teasingly, lowered his face between her legs. Evra groaned as his barbed tongue licked at her sensitive nub, a long, thick finger easing into her already wet hole.

Goddammit, the man was so addictive. She knew she should get up and get dressed, tramp out into the snow and start searching for Kelly but Victor’s heat was too much for her to resist.

Besides, a few more hours wouldn’t matter anyway.

 

* * *

 

**Kelly**

She couldn’t sleep.

She couldn’t close her eyes.

Someone was coming for her.

She knew it.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While the storm took place on Dec. 7, 1917, I fudged the dates a little bit. So sue me.


	6. No Wind is a Favourable One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The storm has passed, a devastated city starts its slow recovery, and four people are dealing in different ways. Join Victor, Evra, Kelly, and Remy as they try desperately to return to normal--or, at least, what passes as normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, remarks, corrections, and general well-wishing are all welcomed.

 

A little body

often harbours

a great soul

-Unknown

* * *

**Remy**

Remy lowered himself to the bed, gently gathering the young woman in his arms. She couldn’t have been older than 18 or 19, but she seemed so much older as he held her, her small and broken body trembling in his embrace.

She’d been refusing to sleep, her grey eyes darting around the room as if she were waiting for Death itself to come and collect her. No one saw fit to do anything, so when Remy found a few moments of respite, he went to offer the young woman comfort.

She was convinced she was cold, her teeth chattering, blankets drawn up around her shoulders, her left arm wrapped around her stomach to conserve what little heat she thought she had left.

In all honesty, she was burning with a high fever, sweat beading and sliding down her skin as he rocked her carefully. Remy could hear her laboured breathing wheezing through her lungs and smell the stench of infection where her arm had been severed from her body.

“C’mon, _chérie_ ,” he said softly, tapping her back with a practiced hand. “It’ll help if you cough up some o’ dat nasty stuff.”

The young woman tried to, only to let out a rattling gasp before she immediately burst into dismayed and exhausted tears. Remy inched a little closer, resting her head on his chest, the hand on her back moving to stroke the damp and tangled hair. He called to mind an old Acadian lullaby his _maman_ used to sing to him when he was feeling ill or restless.

He’d taught it to Evra when she’d insisted he teach her his language and had delighted in his voice, often teasing that she’d get him singing in the sitting room of the brothel as soon as she told Madame Olive of his gift.

The memory brought a bitter smile to Remy’s face.

 _“Dors, dors, le petit bibi,_  
_C’est le beau p’tit bibi á maman._  
 _Dors, dors, dors, dors, dors, le bibi á maman._  
 _Demain s’y fait beau j’irons au grandpére;_  
 _Dors dors le p’tit bibi._  
 _Dors, dors, dors, dors, dors, dors le bibi á maman_.”

Her sobs subsided, her only hand clutching his shirt in her fist. She tried to speak, a cough taking its place and she managed to regurgitate sickly yellow and green mucous into a bedpan.

“ _Bien_ ,” Remy whispered as he eased the young woman back onto the bed. “You were _incroyable_. Feel a bit better, _oui_?”

She nodded weakly as he helped her get comfortable as possible against the pillows before he reached into a water-filled bowl to wet a cloth. He dabbed at her forehead, her grey eyes watching him keenly.

“Try t’ sleep, _chérie_ ,” Remy said softly. “I’ll watch over you for now.”

The young woman’s hand gripped his shirt again. “Sing.”

The course, rough voice that came from her throat startled both of them for a second until Remy gave her an encouraging smile.

“You wan’ me t’ sing?” he joked as he grinned down at her. “I _never_ get requests.”

Her smile trembled but she nodded slowly. “Sing, please,” she whispered hoarsely.

Remy cleared his throat and started from the beginning, keeping his voice low as to not disturb the other patients. The young woman’s gaze remained fixed on his face, her hand still gripping his shirt until her eyelids began to flutter.

He sang until her grasp became lax and her eyes finally closed. Reaching to dampen the cloth again, Remy heard her whisper a name—probably a loved one or a lover—and it made him smile to know that the girl had someone out there who would be looking for her.

She became restless once he placed the damp rag on her forehead, so he started singing again, glad when it helped calm her into stillness.

“It’s okay, _chérie_ ,” Remy said gently, brushing his fingers over her hot cheek. “You ‘ave someone, _oui_? They’ll be comin’ for you soon no doubt.”

With small sigh, the young woman turned her head in his direction and smiled in her sleep. “Evra,” she whispered.

Remy’s heart skipped a beat.

 

* * *

 

**Victor**

 

Both Mrs. Jordan and Heather were flitting around Evra like excited hummingbirds, wanting to make sure she was dressed properly for her excursion. They plied her with socks, pants, shirts, scarfs, sweaters, mittens, and more and more until Victor thought he was going to lose his goddamn mind.

The last thing he needed was for his mate to be overdressed and overheat. They didn’t feel the cold as non-ferals did, so bundling up would be a detriment. Whatever the old ladies brought her way, Victor would toss aside. It started to become ridiculous—and grated on his nerves—when the pile of discards was almost as tall as Evra.

“Enough!” Victor roared, banging his hand on the table as he stood. “She’s not a doll—the woman can dress herself, fer fucks sake!”

All activity ceased as Mrs. Jordan turned a disapproving glare on him. “I’ll have you know that that kind of language does not abide, Mr. Creed.”

“I don’t give a good goddamn what you _abide_ ,” Victor said gruffly as he stared down into the widow’s face. “Get your hands offa my wife an’ do it _now_.”

“Come on, dear,” she said, turning to usher Heather away. “Let’s attend to the sewing; we’ve been lax and it’s started to pile up.”

Once the click of a door indicated they were alone, Evra dropped to her knees and started sorting through the mound that was laughably taller than she was, chucking aside garments she thought would fit. “Didn’t haveta be a bastard, Victor,” she said, a little growl in her voice. “They’re jus’ excited we’re goin’ to find Kelly is all.”

The rumble coming from her excited him and he knelt next to her, reaching for her hand. She allowed him to take it, despite the fact she wouldn’t look him in the eyes. Her irritation pulsed throughout the room.

Victor looked down at the hand he held in his own, surprised how small it was in his. Evra’s spirit was so big, her beast such an incredible presence, that he often forgot how much larger he was. Slowly, he stroked a thumb across her knuckles and kissed the back of her hand.

Her diminutive size didn’t make her any less formidable in his eyes.

“I don’t like their hands over you, touchin’ you,” he said softly. “Makes me crazy.”

She huffed but didn’t pull her hand from his grip. “They’re old ladies; there’s nothin’ to worry about.”

Victor leaned forward, bringing the hand he held to his chest. “Those old ladies are dykes,” he whispered in her ear.

Evra gasped loudly, her head jerking up. “I thought they smelled like each other ‘cause they lived together, not ‘cause they’re—”

“Todger dodgers,” Victor murmured.

The strain between them evaporated as her green eyes lit up, her mouth parting to laugh. He swallowed it by kissing her possessively, purring when she made a small sound of pleasure. He eased her backwards on the pile of winterwear and she allowed it, her own purr chasing his.

Evra was warm and yielding under his body, her lips just as needy, just as wanting. Victor pressed on the hand he still held against his chest until it lay flat so she could feel how hard his heart beat for her, how his beast skimmed along under his skin, yearning to break the surface so it could be close to her.

He kissed her until she was breathless, until he was sure she was covered in his scent once again. She smiled up at him, her fingertips trailing along his lips. Reluctantly, Victor pulled away from her and got to his knees, grabbing up the clothes she’d chosen and shoved them into her arms.

“Get changed, kid. The quicker we find Irish, the quicker it’ll be over with.”

Fuck, the sooner he and Evra shipped out, the sooner she would leave that stupid Irish slit behind and she’d belong to him again. He was about to stand when her voice stopped him.

“You don’t gotta come,” she said harshly as she sat up.

Dammit--he’d ruined the mood.

Finding Kelly had been a sore spot for him since their reunion yesterday. Victor was content to leave everything the way it was now: just him and Evra, like it was before. However, she kept insisting that going after Kelly was a priority and she wasn’t like them with their powers and didn’t deserve to be alone and all that stupid shit he didn’t care about.

Evra wouldn’t be talked—or fucked—out of the damn idea and she wouldn’t seek his permission because she was too much of a fucking alpha. Just to keep things moving, he’d acquiesced, and then damn if she didn’t keep trying to talk him out of it. He would’ve preferred the fucking.

“So’s you keep sayin’,” Victor huffed. “Look, kid, I said I’d help an’ that means I’m gonna fuckin’ help, got it? But I’m gonna be clear as crystal: I ain’t doin’ it for Irish; I’m doin’ it for _you_.”

That was the truth, as far as he was willing to admit it. As much as Victor couldn’t stand Kelly, she made Evra happy and all he really wanted was to make his mate happy. If that meant crawling all over this frozen Hell to find the dumb bitch, he’d fucking do it.

 “Victor, you know Kelly ain’t some kinda replacement or stand-in for you, right?” Evra said. “I don’t want you thinkin’ she’s more important t’ me, but—dammit, Victor, you’re the one I want the most, okay?” She leaned forward and kissed his mouth gently, tenderly. “Ain’t no one but you, boss.”

He reached up and stroked her short cap of hair. “Best get ready; I’m leavin’ in five with or without you.”

Victor got to his feet, extending a hand to help Evra up. Her expression was earnest as she stood on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek before she headed to the water closet. He watched her go, the leg of a pair of trousers dragging on the floor behind her.

Goddammit, he hoped Kelly was dead.

 

* * *

 

  **Kelly**

 

“Sing it again.”

Evra’s smile was bright, its heat burning through Kelly’s veins. “Victor’ll get mad,” she whispered.

Kelly placed a finger over her lover’s lips. “When’d you start carin’ ‘bout makin’ him mad? Besides, I’m the one you’re sleepin’ with tonight.”

Evra’s chuckle warmed her skin even further and Kelly wriggled under her. “If you want me t’ sing, better stop doin’ that.”

She wrapped her arms around her lover’s neck and pulled her down for a sweet kiss. “C’mon an’ sing it again.”

“Why you so obsessed with it anyway?” Evra asked, her breath ghosting across her hot cheek.

“It’s very pretty.”

“ _You’re_ very pretty,” her lover whispered.

“Evra,” Kelly giggled as she blushed. “Stop it!”

Her mouth was caught in a passionate kiss and she moaned, arching her body against Evra’s. She gasped when the other woman’s fingers stroked her nub firmly.

“Tellin’ me to stop this?”

“No,” Kelly murmured. “Never.”

She burned.

 

* * *

 

**Evra**

 

Victor grumbled as he caught her under the armpits and hoisted her out of yet _another_ deceitful snowbank.

This was the fourth one that turned out deeper than she’d expected it to be and had swallowed her up like a monster. Evra didn’t enjoy that her mate had to lift her out like a child, but under his bellyaching, she knew he was relishing it.

“Quit squirmin’,” Victor groused as he put her down. “Ain’t your fault you’re a fuckin’ midget.”

That statement earned him a punch to the arm, but she smiled up at him as he aimed a growl at her. His expression softened before he lifted his head, eyeing the surrounding area. His scent changed slightly to something Evra didn’t recognize; maybe he was more tired that he let on. Personally, she was exhausted but she didn’t want Victor to see it, keeping her shield tight around her and her countenance resolute.

When they’d left the townhouse earlier in the day, people were out in droves, taking advantage of the storm’s passing by shoveling, plowing, hauling away debris, and still searching for bodies, alive or dead. It didn’t matter much now but it seemed to be more of the latter if the overflowing carts that passed them were any indication. Many of the drivers had been helpful in directing the pair to the hospital, the hastily set-up care areas, and morgues.

Evra and Victor had scouted the overfull hospital, but Kelly wasn’t there. They had also visited three morgues and two of the overflow facilities. She wasn’t at those places either, but they did find a few men they knew from the draft in all of them.

She had used her healing powers on the live ones—surreptitiously of course—to help stave on infection and help the recovery process along. She’d tried not to use to much, but it was difficult to see perfectly good men lying there, languishing due to the sheer magnitude of patients.

Now she was worn out and trying desperately to hide it.

Victor lifted his nose to the air. “Should get back home, kid,” he said. “Keep lookin’ tomorrow. Gotta be tired after showin’ off that mighty ol’ power of yours.”

“I ain’t tired,” Evra snapped, “an’ when it comes to my powers, mind your own damn business.”

Damn him! Victor couldn’t always smell her intentions due to her shield, but he was getting to be an expert on her body language—and that irritated the hell out of her. Why couldn’t she keep some of her feelings to herself?

“You _are_ my business,” he growled, grabbing her by the arm before she could take another step. “You ain’t good t’ me if you’re dead from all that layin’ on of hands shit, an’ you ain’t gonna be good t’ anyone else, neither. We’re goin’ back to the house.”

She snatched her arm back. “I ain’t found Kelly yet,” she said sourly. “Why don’t _you_ go home. It ain’t like you wanna find her anyway.”

Victor’s upper lip curled, exposing one sharp looking fang, letting Evra know she’d crossed a line. “Yer actin’ like a brat.”

“So what?” She almost stamped her foot petulantly but didn’t want to give his words any more credence. “I’ll keep lookin’ ‘til I drop. I don’t care wha—”

Her sentence ended with a yelp as she was snatched and thrown over Victor’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes. It was how ferals carried their prey once it had been taken down; it was too significant and telling a pose for her to be in and she didn’t like it.

Infuriated, Evra pounded on his back with her fists. “Put me down,” she hissed, kicking her legs out. Victor grunted, but his arm was firm around her waist. “I am _not_ your prey, Victor! Stop!”

A hard slap to her ass made her yip. “I ain’t treatin’ you like prey,” he growled. “Since yer actin’ like a spoiled child, I’m handlin’ ya like one. Keep this shit up an’ I’ll spank ya again.”

Evra continued to fume as Victor walked, acting nonchalantly, acting like this sort of thing happened all the time. That incensed her further, so she kicked out and tried knee him in the chest, however, she was rewarded with another rough smack and clamped his other arm across her calves.

She began to struggle fiercely as the townhouse came into view, Victor’s large hand coming down over and over. Her ass started to sting.

“If I didn’t know ya better, kid,” he said gruffly, “I’d say you was tryin’ to get me hot an’ bothered fer ya.”

She could smell the tendril of heat curling around him. “Is that the real reason why you wanna take me home, so’s you can tear my clothes off an’ remind me who I belong to?”

Victor’s growl thrummed in his chest. “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that,” he said. “Now, quit pretendin’ you ain’t bushed an’ stop bein’ a bitch.”

Evra finally slumped in his grip, feeling defeated. “Please,” she whispered. “Don’t bring me home, Victor. I jus’ wanna find her.”

“Look, it’s gettin’ t’ be dark anyways,” he sighed. “Ain’t no sense in lookin’ no more today. That’s final, so no more arguin’ now.”

Normally, she would have bitten back when he started making decisions for her, but she couldn’t keep acting like she wasn’t ready to fall into bed for days. “Food’d be nice,” she said wistfully. “Food an’ sleep.”

Victor chuckled. “Knew it. Should listen to me more.”

“Should let a gal get some shut-eye instead of tryin’ t’ fuck her brains out every night,” Evra retorted.

He snorted. “You love it.”

She couldn’t deny it.

 

* * *

 

**Victor**

 

Evra was half-asleep on Victor’s lap as he sliced into a good-sized raw pork loin. He himself was shirtless, his mate’s bare back pressed to his exposed chest.

He’d stripped her naked the minute they were inside the townhouse, knowing she needed his warmth and skin-to-skin contact to help with recovery. Mrs. Jordan had supplied her husband’s old bathrobe when she realised Victor wasn’t going to stop removing Evra’s clothes but she’d balked when he’d begun removing his shirt.

“Mr. Creed, this is highly inappropriate—”

“Aw, shut yer yap,” he snapped. “Don’t get yer britches in a twist; it ain’t what you think.”

Her mouth opened to deliver what would have been a blistering retort, but Victor stopped her cold by demanding meat, lots of it. Raw, preferably. Mrs. Jordan informed him that since the explosion, she hadn’t been able to keep it chilled properly and it might be starting to spoil. He told her it didn’t matter and she didn’t say another word as he slid the robe backwards onto Evra and carried her to the table.

“What’s wrong?” the old lady asked as she placed the roast on the table.

“None of yer fuckin’ business,” Victor snarled.

He extended his claws and carved out a huge chunk of pork. He sniffed it before bringing it to Evra’s mouth and she accepted it without hesitation because instinctively, she knew her mate wouldn’t give her anything that would harm her.

Mrs. Jordan came back to the table with a bottle of whiskey and three glasses, cracked it open, and poured out healthy amount. Surprised, Victor glanced up at her.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

She clinked her glass against his before she took a huge gulp, her face unreadable as the liquid went down. He followed her, the whiskey leaving a trail of fire down his throat. Victor lifted the third glass to Evra’s lips; she drank greedily until it was drained and whimpered for more.

Mrs. Jordan topped their glasses off immediately and sat heavily in the chair next to them, her eyes on Evra’s face. “My Henrietta liked whiskey too,” she said softly. “Drank it like water and never once came to me drunk.”

Victor grunted and silence fell as he continued to feed Evra until she sighed contentedly and nestled against him. Gently, he moved her so that she was curled in his lap, her cheek pressed to his chest, his free arm secure around her. When she nodded off, he began to eat what little his mate had left behind.

He didn’t really need it since he’d gorged yesterday, but he felt it was a shame to waste good meat. Once he’d finished the last glass of whiskey, he went to adjust Evra but the widow stood quickly and reached for her.

“Don’t,” he snarled at her, twisting his mate away. “You don’t touch her no more, got it?”

Mrs. Jordan stood tall, her regal face flush with anger. “Mr. Creed, just because I enjoy the company of women doesn’t mean that I’m trying to—”

“Yer old alpha gal pal, did she like other women puttin’ their hands on you, ‘specially those she thought might fancy ya?”

“N-no,” the old lady stammered.

“Evra’s my mate,” Victor said gruffly, “an’ I know yer hot under th’ collar for her, so’s I can’t have yer scent on her.”

The old woman paled, her hand gripping the pearls she wore. “I—I’ll keep that in mind.”

He stood, Evra like a limp noodle in his arms. “It ain’t personal, mind,” he said, “it’s instinct. You’re a good, strong woman. You’da made a damn fine alpha feral an’ if I thought for one second Evra’d leave me for you, I’d gut ya without a second thought.”

Mrs. Jordan was left speechless in the face of the highest praise Victor Creed could bestow on someone of the opposite sex, so he left her to untangle the admiration from the contempt and brought Evra up to their bedroom. Once inside, he began to untangle her from the robe, waking her slightly.

“Stop it,” Evra said groggily, trying to push his hands away. “’M too tired, Victor. Can’t you jus’ bugger yer hand tonight?”

“Ain’t tryin’ t’ fuck ya, kid,” he said with a hint of amusement.

“Okay.”

She was soon asleep again and he placed her gently in bed before disrobing and climbing in next to her, moving until her small and powerful body was against his. He could feel her beast stirring beneath her flesh, gaining energy from the meat, desiring the closeness Victor was giving her.

He tried to touch it, to chase it with his fingertips, but it was adept at avoiding him, never _quite_ letting him make contact. It teased and tormented him at every opportunity, letting him know that Evra was not wholly his.

Victor wondered if it was due to how he’d claimed Evra, the one-sidedness of the process. He’d taken her body while she’d been unconscious, draining her blood until she died underneath him. It was imperative at the time that he own the sheer strength he saw within her; he needed to be next to it, to use it when necessary. He couldn’t let it go to waste.

Evra had never claimed him in return. He’d led her to believe that it had already been done, that their feral souls were connected forever.

It helped that she was addicted to him, attracted to his body and the savage form of affection he showered upon her. It helped that Evra was naïve. It helped that she didn’t know any better.

Victor could never let her find out the truth; he would anything and everything to keep her. Gently, he pressed his lips to his mate’s crown. She murmured his name with a smile before snuggling closer to his warmth.

She was all he ever wanted.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cherie (French) - Dear/sweetheart
> 
> Maman (French) - Mother
> 
> The song Remy sings is an traditional Cajun/Acadian folk song. It's author and publishing date are unknown. In English, the title translates to "Sleep, Little One" and the lyrics are as follows:
> 
> Sleep, my little one  
> Sleep, little beautiful baby of mine  
> Sleep, sleep  
> Little baby of mine.
> 
> Tomorrow, if it's nice  
> We'll see your grandpa  
> Sleep, sleep, little one  
> Sleep, sleep  
> Little baby of mine.
> 
> Incroyable (French) - Incredible/amazing
> 
> "Todger dodger" - a old slang term for lesbian, 'todger' being a slang term for penis
> 
> "Bugger your hand" - an old slangy term for male masturbation


	7. Together We Are an Ocean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bodies and lives collide as Victor, Evra, Remy, and Kelly find themselves crashing into one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, replies, critiques, and randoms words in no particular order are encouraged!
> 
> Any mistakes with language and syntax are all my own. Corrections are welcome.
> 
> I'm Canadian, so Canadian spellings have been used. Don't freak out, you're totally okay.

 

"We may have all come in different ships,

but we're in the same boat now."

-Martin Luther King Jr.

 

* * *

 

**Victor**

Victor had watched Evra sleep soundly through the night. She hardly stirred as he’d kept himself wrapped around her, taking note of every little sound and movement, feeling her beast tumbling and turning beneath her skin.

Her skin was still pale, the copper of her hair like a splash of blood against the pillowcase. He wasn’t going to let her leave this room until the pink had returned to her cheeks and the dark circles under her eyes had faded away.

Gently, he reached out and trailed a hand down her spine, his palm feeling the bones resting under the flesh. Evra made a drowsy sound of contentment and arched into the touch, curling her body around itself.

Victor’s fingers traced her shoulder blades and her hipbones, memorising their bluntness or sharpness, knowing he couldn’t feel the sheer strength of them under the contact. It was the same with her muscles, hidden under the fleshy curves. They seemed so inconsequential as he tracked them with the pads of his fingers but each contained an combined force that Victor hadn’t even fully seen.

Evra was sleeping deeply and he didn’t want to disturb her, so he ghosted a kiss to her shoulder and slid out of bed, dressing quickly before he descended the stairs with a preternatural quiet that started both Mrs. Jordan and Heather as he suddenly appeared in the kitchen.

The latter was standing in front of a pan of sizzling bacon and moved hurriedly out of the way as Victor approached. The meat was still half-raw—just the way he liked it—so he scooped up everything and tossed it all in his mouth.

Chewing, he crossed to the door and began hauling on his boots. “If Evra needs anything, only Heather goes up there,” Victor growled at the widow. “I don’t wanna smell you on the stairs, got it?”

He had his jacket buttoned up and was pulling a wool hat down over his ears when Heather stepped forward, handing him his scarf. “W-where are you goin’?” she asked timidly, the Irish lilt more pronounced than usual.

Victor’s hand was on the doorknob. He didn’t turn to face the woman. “Huntin.”

The gravity in his voice made both women stiffen in terror, but neither dared shiver until the door had slammed shut behind him.

 

* * *

 

**Remy**

Remy felt like he was going mad.

Despite the desperate need of the others around him, he stayed close to the young woman who had uttered Evra’s name and lit a spark of hope in his heart. He dabbed sweat from her soaked forehead and dripped cool water over her lips in hopes that she would wake up and utter Evra’s name again.

“Just once, _s’il vous plait_ ,” Remy murmured. “ _J’ai besoin que tu m’aides_.”

Had she actually said it? Had this girl—this _stranger_ —whispered the name of the woman he loved or was he chasing shadows, wanting to believe? His mind was reeling, his heart bumping madly in his chest.

Sitting back with a sigh, he wished Evra were here with him now, using her powers to help heal those around him, the people that demanded his attention, wanting his doctor hands to take away their pains and cure their ills.

What he wouldn’t give for the ability to heal with a touch. Right now, Remy coveted Evra’s power more than anything. A doctor with the ability to heal with a touch? How wonderful would it be to cure anyone who came to his aid; think of all the good he’d be able to accomplish, making decent people well again.

_“Who are you to choose who’s good an’ who ain’t? Sometimes the actions of angels can be hidin’ the devil.”_

The suddenness of Evra’s words in his head started him. She was right, of course—judging someone solely by their actions was an easy way to turn a blind eye to the motives behind them. What of the man who stole a loaf of bread to feed his hungry family? What of the woman who sold her body on the street to earn money to take care of her children?

There was usually so much more going on underneath the surface.

“Like you, _par exemple_ ,” Remy murmured to the unconscious woman. “What are you hidin’ in dat head of yours? Sometin’ you wanna share wit Remy, _oui_?”

She sighed as he wiped the cloth gently across her forehead, and murmured the one thing he had been anxious to hear: “Evra.”

Elated, he leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “You do have an’ angel lookin’ out for you, _chérie_. I’m gonna make sure we find her, for both our sakes.”

 

* * *

 

  **Kelly**

 

“Are you comin’?” Evra’s pack was snug and secure on her back, buckled and tied by Victor’s expert hand. It looked heavy, but Kelly knew her lover was capable of handling so much more.

However, she wasn’t sure she could.

Kelly sat on the edge of the bed—the one she’d shared with Marie—and plucked at a wrinkle in the musty sheet. “I—I don’t know,” she said weakly. “I’m tired, Evra, real tired an’ with what happened—”

“Look,” her lover snapped. “You ain’t gonna stay here an’ die alone, so get yer shit packed an’ let’s go.”

“Or what?” Kelly raged, rising to her feet. “Will you kill me too, like Marie? Give me t’ Victor an’ let him have his way with me? Let him tear me apart?”

Evra growled furiously at her, but she stood her ground despite fright clenching her gut. The air between them sparked for a few moments, the hair on the back of Kelly’s neck standing on end. It didn’t stop her from ploughing forward.

“Why did you have Marie killed, Evra?” Kelly demanded. “Is it ‘cause you wanted her outta th’ way ‘cause she had her eyes on Victor? She was _innocent_ , Evra, jus’ a girl—”

Before Kelly could blink, Evra had her pinned to the decrepit mattress, snarling over top of her, sharp teeth exposed. “You got _no_ _idea_ ‘bout that,” she hissed, her fingernails pricking at Kelly’s skin through the fabric of her dress. “You don’t know _nothin’_!”

The pair stayed like that for a few moments, sweat beginning to form on Evra’s forehead. They were panting, glaring at each other, a growl rolling from the feral woman. Kelly knew that she was close to the beast and would maybe have her next question answered before it left her mouth.

 “Will Victor tell you t’ take me somewhere an’ kill me?” Kelly’s voice was low, almost inaudible under the volume of her lover’s anger. “Will you rip me apart with your teeth an’ claws when it’s my time?”

Evra closed her hands around Kelly’s neck. The woman didn’t squeeze, but her grip was tight. “Don’t,” she whispered, her voice quiet and low. “You got no idea how many times he told me t’ do it an’ I didn’t. I _won’t_. I won’t _ever_ ‘cause he don’t control me an’ he don’t tell me who t’ love…” Evra’s mouth was suddenly on Kelly’s, demanding and persistent, her hips pressing down, grinding frantically.

“Hurry th’ fuck up!” came a loud roar from outside the cabin; it shuddered violently as large fist pounded on the frame. “Stop fuckin’ an’ let’s _go_!”

Her lover pulled away and pushed herself off the bed to gather up her pack. Kelly, stunned, watched her haul it on and check the belts and buckles. “I lov—”

“No,” Evra said firmly. “Never say it where he can hear or he’ll do it himself. Now, c’mon; we’re losin’ daylight.”

Slowly, Kelly got to her feet and gathered up her meager belongings, stuffing them into her small rucksack. Evra stayed in the doorway, barking back at Victor when he started snarling commands.

Just as Kelly was about the pass through the door, her lover grabbed her by the waist and pulled her in for another kiss, this one sweet and unhurried, leaving her breathless.

“Evra.” Kelly brushed her fingertips over the other woman’s lips, who smiled against her touch.

“I’ll never leave you behind,” Evra whispered.

 

* * *

 

**Victor**

 

Victor stepped from the morgue and took a deep breath through his nose, hoping to rid it of the scent of the rot and decay.

It was bad enough that he hadn’t been able to locate Kelly’s unique smell lavender and clove. He’d annoyed the guards by whipping the blankets off of each and every corpse to look at faces, but they hadn’t the nerve to approach him. Instead, they made a small boy—around seven or so—follow him and carefully replace each shroud.

The kid was dressed in shabby clothes, torn and ripped, his shoes obviously too small for his growing feet. He looked scrawny, too slight for a boy that age. Despite his raggedy appearance, he had someone caring for him: his diminutive features had been scrubbed clean, his hands cleaner than they should be for someone in this line of work.

That’s what the kid was doing: working. He was earning pennies to bring home to his family that had had been poor before the disaster; God only knows how they were faring now.

The kid had no fear of Victor, nor did he mind what the man was doing; he only knelt and put back each sheet with a special reverence that twisted Victor’s gut, then traced a simple cross onto the corpse’s forehead.

The boy wasn’t bothered by his station in life, he held his belief in God close, even though it seemed the deity had somehow let this one slip through the cracks. Victor knew how that felt. He’d paused in his search to watch the kid for a few seconds before berating himself for being soft.

Yesterday, he’d snarled at Evra every time she’d handed out a few coins or notes to kids begging on the streets. “Can’t save ‘em all, Ev,” Victor said, finally demanding she hand over her money to him for safe keeping.

“Ain’t tryin’ to,” she’d replied. “If I can save save one, that’s enough. ‘Sides, I can always make more money.”

“People can always make more brats too.” He’d stuffed her bills into his coat pocket with a sneer. “It’s all a matter of perspective, kid.” Evra had just given him an infuriating smile and pulled him along behind her, eager to get to the next location.

When Victor had eyed the last body, he strode back to the boy and handed him a folded five-dollar bank note. “That’s for you.” He closed the kid’s hand gently around the money. “Don’t let th’ guards see it. Use it t’ get whatever you an’ yer family need, okay?”

The boy’s brown eyes were wide and wet as he looked up into Victor face. “I’ll be sure t’ pray for you, mister,” he said in a trembling voice.

“Don’t,” Victor said harshly. “Don’t mention me to th’ bastard an’ promise me you won’t give a single penny to th’ church.”

“But mister—”

“Promise me. Every last cent for you an’ your family _only_.”

“I p-promise.”

Victor relaxed and placed a kind hand on his shoulder. “Good. Now, put it away ‘fore the guards notice.”

The boy slid the bill into an inside coat pocket. “Thank you, mister,” he whispered. “Are you sure yo—”

“It’s best if God don’t know ‘bout this,” Victor said with a smile. “He an’ me ain’t on the best of terms.”

“But God loves all His children.”

He chuckled and reached down to ruffle the boy’s hair, careful to keep his claws retracted. “He don’t love me, kid. Not even a little.”

Before the boy could speak again, Victor turned and walked away quickly, desperate to get outside, away from the kid and his God talk, away from the stench of the dead. Grumbling to himself, he patted his pockets and found his cigarettes and lit one up. The tobacco would help take away the smell, not to mention the tension in his muscles.

He had one more morgue and one more overflow facility to visit and that would be it. He’d either find Irish dead or alive—the former being his preference—and it would mean that he and Evra could finally move on with their lives instead of being stuck in this odd limbo with the spectre of Kelly between them.

Taking a deep drag, Victor started off down the road towards the next corpse house. He usually didn’t mind the dead—they had their uses—but it was the smell he couldn’t stand.

Victor figured that when he started loving the scent of rotting carcasses, it’d be then he’d be truly crazy.

 

* * *

**Remy**

_Un pas de plus. Un pas de plus. Un pas de plus._

Remy kept chanting the mantra over and over again to keep his feet moving forward, to keep his step steady and sure. His arms ached due to the bundle he held close to his chest and she didn’t help by choosing that moment to moan and shift in his grip.

He muttered a curse that made him feel better for a moment and started to walk again, pushing ahead despite his weariness. What he was doing was completely ludicrous but he couldn’t stop now.

Back at the facility, asking around after someone with the last name Kitney had earned Remy a modicum of luck. A nurse said she knew an Evan Kitney and that they had resided at Mrs. Jordan’s boarding house for a few months. She gave him the address and even sketched out directions on a ratty piece of paper.

However, before handing it over, the nurse made him promise one thing: “If you meet a man called Victor Creed, tell him Nancy Fairfax will be there to spit on his grave.”

Remy, frantic to have Evra’s address in his hands, murmured an assent and the paper was pressed into his hand. He stared at it for a solid minute before he shook himself back to reality and made his way towards the supply cabinet to take some blankets, medicine, and a few clothes.

The act of thievery made him uneasy; he’d never been the kind of man who entertained the idea of larceny but desperate times and all that. To assuage his guilt, he tucked a five-dollar note under a bottle of morphine. Someone would see it and use it to buy new supplies—he hoped.

No one paid Remy any attention as he injected the young woman with opiates to make her sleep, or when he pulled multiple socks over her mangled feet, slipped a skirt and then a pair of trousers over her twisted and useless legs, a heavy jacket that he buttoned all the way up, and wrapped her in as many blankets as he could and still lift and hold her comfortably.

Once that was done, he’d scooped her up and walked out of the make-shift infirmary without any trouble. The others probably assumed he was removing a dead body to leave outside for the collectors to pick up and transfer to the nearest (or least full) morgue.

It felt as if he had been walking for days. The non-stop wind was chilly and Remy hugged the young woman closer, trying to share as much body heat as possible. Her face was grey underneath the scarf coiled around it and her fever was still soaring higher than he’d like.

“Don’ die, _chérie_ ,” he murmured against the woolen cap jammed on her head. “We got somewhere special t’ go first an’ I need you to hang on, _d’accord_?”

All Remy heard in response was her laboured breathing, making his gut sink. He whispered a few more words of encouragement, lowering his head against the wind as it whistled past his ears.

The blocks passed by in what seemed to be a slowing of time, each misty breath from Remy’s mouth hanging in the air for too long, each footstep taking more than a minute to fall, each building taking an eternity to pass.

His arms were starting to tremble from effort, his lungs begging for more air than he was capable of giving at the moment, so he stopped, sagging heavily next to a storefront whose window was covered in newspaper, keeping the cracks in the glass from letting in the wind and snow.

Somehow, it was almost garishly bright in the evening sun, Remy’s eyes used to the darkened rooms of the infirmary. The window seemed to be blasting the light back out onto the street tenfold; it was almost enough to blind a man. His head throbbed.

He considered sitting down right here—just briefly—and closing his eyes for a few moments. The dazzling beams made him dizzy and surely a short respite wouldn’t hurt, would it? A few moments would be alright…

Remy’s knees gave out and he tried to cry out as the precious package he was holding went tumbling from his arms, but the only sound that left his mouth was a pathetic wheeze. He hit the ground in a tangle of longs limbs, immediately reaching out for the young girl. His vision had gone dark, so he kept scrambling to feel her, sitting up to get a better reach.

Laughter struck his ears almost painfully because it was a laugh he knew, a laugh he hated. Remy blinked a few times and when the darkness cleared, he found himself looking up into the ruggedly handsome face of Victor Creed.

The large man looked angelic: the evening sun was behind him, capping his blond hair with a halo, the breeze flapping his unbuttoned jacket open like angel’s wings. Victor held the girl in his arms, smiling beatifically down at him.

 “You look like shit,” the feral said jovially, his smile razor sharp.

“ _Sacrement_ ,” Remy murmured before the world went dim once more. 

 

* * *

 

**Victor**

The doctor woke with a shout, an arm outstretched as if he were trying to grab something. When he realised he was no longer asleep, he groaned and rubbed his knuckles against his eyes. Slowly, he sat up and looked around.

“Some dream you were havin’, doc,” Victor said, throwing another log into the pot-bellied stove. He could still smell the stench of fear and guilt clinging to the man like the finest of colognes.

“Where’s da girl?” Remy sounded concerned and angry on top of being weary.

Victor didn’t blame him, given their short-lived history. He jerked his thumb to a makeshift pallet near the stove. He’d stripped Kelly of most of her clothes; they had been soaked with sweat and urine and he wasn’t about to redress Irish in things that were stinking and ruined.

“Safe. Didn’t eat her or nothin’.” Victor chuckled and poked at the fire with an elongated claw. The firewood crackled and shifted itself, sparks spitting against the iron of the stove.

The storefront the doc had the foresight to pass out in front of was abandoned, so a quick show of strength was all he needed to get the back door open. A few dusty sheets, some wood for the stove, and a floor were all they needed for a few hours; Victor had made good use of them all, flicking the dirt off the sheets before tucking them around Kelly, getting a fire started to warm up the place, and laying the doc out. Easy as pie.

Until Frenchie woke up and started asking questions. Shit, he’d forgotten how annoying the guy was with his accent and ridiculous good looks and he didn’t even have the courtesy to laugh at the ‘didn’t eat her’ joke. If anyone would get that, it’d be the doc.

However, the good doctor stayed where he was, clenching and unclenching his hands like he wanted to leap up and throttle Victor for all he was worth. Lean little bastard didn’t stand a chance and they both knew it, so instead, his bloodshot blue eyes darted around the room, trying to suss out the situation. He made no move towards his saviour.

“What’re you doin’ ‘ere?” The Acadian’s accent became thick when he was frustrated.

“We both know what I’m doin’ here, Frenchie,” Victor replied snidely as he sat. “As for you, I bet I could guess an’ be right on th’ money.”

Remy flushed, his skin reddening beneath the short auburn beard that did little to hide his handsomeness. “I don’ mean ‘alifax, Creed. I mean _‘ere_ , right now. You know dis girl?”

“I know her alright.”

“Why you ‘elpin’ ‘er?”

Victor didn’t answer and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He offered the pack to the doctor, who declined. He lit one and leaned back, exhaling a large cloud of smoke into the air. Unlike the puffs of breath that formed in the cold and vanished just as fast, this one lingered, its sweet scent covering up some of the more… _ghastly_ ones.

Like Kelly, for example. Or the doc. Now _there_ was a man who was in desperate need of a shave and a shower. Sweat and death and guilt and anger were not an enticing combination of odours.

 The minutes ticked by in silence as Victor enjoyed the cigarette leisurely, watching the Acadian wrestle with his emotions, each one flicking across his face. It was like looking through a stereoscopic viewer, the picture fluttering by with one minor change a second: the lift of a lip, the closing of eyes, a twitch of a nose, a frown.

Finally, the doctor broke the silence by gesturing towards Irish. “Gonna check on her,” he said. His accent had relaxed, no longer a rapid-fire staccato of words where the letter ‘h’ was hard to come by.

He waited until Victor nodded, which was smart. If the doctor had rushed or ran to her, no telling what he would’ve done. To him, Remy would always be a competitor; the smallest slight would make Victor take him down just to rid the world of a rival for his mate’s affections.

But the doctor was playing by the rules, making no sudden movements or sounds that would be perceived as a threat. He must’ve learned a lot of that shit from dealing with Evra and Jasmine. As a female alpha, she was vicious when protecting the red-headed girl and would take any man’s hands on her as a challenge, no matter how innocent.

Victor’s own lip curled as he recalled Jasmine and lit another cigarette from the first before stuffing the butt between the grates of the stove. In the end, the girl had gotten sloppy and Evra’s head was turned by his alpha maleness. It’d been easy to kill Jasmine and easier still to deal with his new mate’s anger over the death of her former girlfriend.

Satisfied with the memory of Jasmine’s screams and the vision of her death, Victor turned his gaze to watch Remy fuss around Kelly, wiping her ash-coloured cheeks, checking her temperature, and listening to her chest.

“You gonna kill me, _homme_?” The doctor’s shoulders tensed as soon as the last word left his mouth and Victor almost laughed.

Of _course_ he wanted the incredibly handsome doctor dead—the man had made overtures to his mate and now he’d come all the way to Halifax from Alberta for what? Not for a friendly handshake, that was for damn sure.

“I was thinkin’ ‘bout it,” Victor replied flippantly, enjoying how the smell of the man’s fear spiked. “Not today, though.” The doctor relaxed visibly and worked Kelly’s arm out of the mass of sheets and clothes. “Is it bad?”

He didn’t know why he was asking; it was obvious that Irish wasn’t long for this world. She stank of infection and phlegm and shit and piss. The doctor took a deep breath and Victor expected a sarcastic remark or a curse of some sort, but he was surprised by the succinct remark: “Very.”

He let Remy work in silence for a few moments, watching as the doctor prepared to give Irish as shot, filling the needle from the small bottle, swabbing the area with a clean piece of cotton he’d stashed somewhere.

“Her name’s Kelly,” Victor said as the needle slid into the girl’s arm. “Kelly Murphy.”

The doctor huffed a laugh. “Irish?”

“What else? She’s a sucker for the accent.”

“ _Je connais_. She’s got a type, _oui_?”

It was an unspoken agreement that they didn’t mention Evra’s name out loud. She remained a spectre amongst them, a non-tangible thing that kept the balance. Saying it would tip the scale and cause chaos, the kind one of them wouldn’t come back from.

“Don’t we all,” Victor replied dryly. He took a final puff of the cigarette and poked it through the grates of the pot-bellied stove. “If you got enough beauty sleep, we should get movin’ ‘fore the girl hops th’ twig.”

The Acadian got to his feet, his face twisted in disbelief. “You would take me to ‘er?”

Victor stood and stretched. “Ain’t like I gotta choice. Got your scent all over me now an’ I don’t want her askin’ questions I don’t wanna answer. Ain’t lettin’ you t’ stay forever, mind.”

He crossed to Kelly and crouched, laying out his coat before gently picking her up and wrapping her in it, making sure she was bundled up tight. He was careful of her injuries as he scooped her into his arms and turned to face the doctor.

“Forgot t’ mention,” Remy said, buttoning up his jacket. “Got a message for you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” The doctor crossed to the door and placed his hand on the broken knob. “Nancy Fairfax says she’ll be dere to spit on your grave.”

The door was pushed open, the doctor stepping out first to hold it open in order to accommodate Victor and his cargo. The crimson evening sun streamed in, turning Victor’s face and clothes red as he laughed, the colour having the opposite effect as it had earlier.

“I doubt it.”

 

* * *

 

**Remy**

 

The trio set off in silence, the wind the only sound as it cartwheeled around them, sending smatterings of snow into their eyes and mouths, making their hands cold and chapped. They trudged past others, no one slowing down to say hello. Everyone was single-minded in getting to their destinations, wanting to get away from the icy fingers of the gusts blowing up their skirts and down their backs.

The whole city seemed to be noiseless as Remy followed in Victor’s footsteps. It was if everything had come to a standstill; there were no horse-pulled carts plodding down the streets, no shrieks and shouts of playing children, no shrill calls of their mothers summoning them home for dinner.

Although he’d only been in Halifax a month before the disaster, Remy missed the clanging of the bells that meant work was done for the day at the factories. People would spill out of the doors, laughing and chatting, giving the inanimate city life, supplying a much-needed spirit.

Now it was if that spirit had been dimmed, at least for the foreseeable future. There were occasional stirrings, like mice, as some of the citizens kept Halifax marching forward, refusing to dwell on the horrific price that was paid on December sixth.

It spooked Remy enough that he needed to fill the quiet. “How is she?”

No specification was needed.

“Th’ same. Pissy, infuriatin’.” Victor paused and Remy saw him smirk. “Amazin’.”

“Did she get caught in—”

“Yep.”

“When do you bot’ ship—”

“Jesus Christ,” Victor swore, his voice hard and gruff. “Yer jus’ like her sometimes, y’know? Don’t know when t’ shut th’ hell up.”

Remy closed his mouth and they walked in silence for a few more blocks until he couldn’t stand it anymore—all those days in Coalspur, Alberta with only the wind and dust for company had made him crave noise, anything but the sound of his own breath or the flutter of leaves.

“Why're you doin’ dis, helpin’ Kelly?” Remy asked. “I t’ought you hated sharin’.”

Victor stopped so suddenly that Remy bumped against him soundly, practically getting knocked to the ground. The man’s body was as solid as a marble column and he felt a chill as Victor’s head turned, one amber eye glinting at him.

“Why were you carryin’ a half-dead girl cross th’ city durin’ a fuckin’ blizzard?”

Remy’s mouth worked; he could’ve given a million reasons why but all of them would have been a lie and the other man would know it. He clamped his mouth shut, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and stared straight ahead, past Victor’s large frame.

The other man chuckled. “Thought so.”

Both men remained quiet the rest of the way.

 

* * *

 

**Kelly**

 

Kelly was cold. Despite pressing herself closer to Evra, her lover’s heat couldn’t seem to chase the chill away.

“What’s amatter?” Evra asked sleepily.

She opened her mouth to tell her about the bitter frost that had wormed its way into her bones, but a sudden flash of heat overtook her, burning the cold away.

Evra wrapped an arm around Kelly’s waist and pulled her flush against her body, her lips pressed to that special spot just under her ear. “It’s okay if you gotta go,” her lover whispered.

The cold was back again, making her shiver. “Not yet,” she replied. “I’m not ready yet.”

A heated kiss was placed against Kelly’s icicle skin. “I’ll be with you until it’s time.”

“You won’t leave?”

“I promise but you’ll have t’ do th’ rest by yourself. I can’t go where you’re goin’.”

“I love you.”

 

* * *

 

**Evra**

 

When Evra finally woke, mid afternoon light was being filtered through the blanket covering the boarded-up window.

Yawning, she barely had time to answer the knock on the door before Heather whisked in a cloth and a bowl of warm water for washing. “Cannae sleep all day!” she trilled, her accent as thick as the stink of fear clinging to her.

Evra thanked her and asked after Victor, startling a fake laugh from Heather the second her mate’s name was mentioned. “Oh, he’s somewhere,” she said vaguely, hand gesturing towards the outside. She then stilled her frenetic motions, the scent of fear spiking. “Mr. Creed dannae want ya leavin’ the room.”

Flicking the sheets aside with a hearty laugh, Evra got to her feet and went to the bowl. “Victor don’t own me, Heather.”

The older woman averted her eyes as Evra washed herself. “He’s your husband. A woman must obey her husband or—”

“Victor talks as big as he is, but he won’t do nothin’ ‘cept maybe grump around for a few hours,” Evra said. “I can handle him.” Without thinking, she pulled trousers, a shirt and undershirt, and a pair of suspenders from the drawer.

“You dennae understand,” Heather said, wringing her hands. “He tol’ Dorie—um, Mrs. Jordan that if he—oh!” One of her hands flew to her breast in surprise. “You look jus’ like Evan!”

Evra caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. The woman was right; without the headscarf to hide her short hair, Evra Kitney had morphed into Evan Kitney…well, except for the unbound breasts that had made it difficult to button the shirt properly.

Thank goodness for undershirts.

“Heather, I have somethin’ to tell you,” Evra said as she turned to face the woman. “I _am_ Evan Kitney. He an’ I are one an’ the same.”

Heather looked stunned for a moment until she broke down in laughter. “Oh, yer such a joker, Mrs. Creed! Twins are always pullin’ pranks like that, pretendin’ to be th’ other! Wait ‘til I tell Dorie what a wag you are!”

She flitted out of the room, trailing mirth behind her, calling for Mrs. Jordan when she reached the middle of the stairs.

Evra turned back to the mirror and gave herself a once over. Evan looked back at her, a shit-eating grin on his face. “Well,” she said to him, “at least we can’t say we didn’t try.”

He winked.

 

* * *

 

**Kelly**

 

“Almost ready,” Kelly whispered.

She and Evra were facing each other, their faces only a breadth apart. Her lover smiled gently and reached up to stroke her hair.

“You been real good t’ me, Kelly,” she said. “More n’ I deserve.”

She touched Evra’s cheek. “You deserve somethin’ good,” she said softly. “You deserve all th’ good things.”

A strong pull made Kelly gasp and she clutched at Evra’s hands, who held them tightly. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to remember everything and everyone she’d loved, all the good things that had happened, all the things that made her laugh, all the sunshiny days and all the rainy days. She tried to remember everything.

“I’m ready.”

Another strong pull made Kelly snap her eyes open and she found herself staring into her lover’s face, her green eyes wet with tears.

She whispered, “Evra.”

And it all went away.

 

* * *

 

**Evra**

“EVRA!”

The sound of the back door smashing open along with the roar of her name brought her quickly from the sitting room, where she’d been reading quietly. A jumble of smells hit her: piss/shit/pain/love/hurt/Victor/Remy? and she felt woozy, steadying herself on the wall while she caught her breath.

Evra’s eyes shot towards the door, where Victor was kneeling, placing something—or someone? —on the floor. Behind him, looking equal parts concerned and confused was Doctor Remy Laurent.

Dark circles bracketed his sky-blue eyes, his hair was greasy and dirty, a beard letting her know he hadn’t had a decent shave in a long time. He looked terrible. Evra gasped his name and those weary eyes flicked to her and widened. The beginnings of a smile made his lips tremble.

Remy took a step towards her but was halted by two things: a deep growl from Victor and the arrival of Heather and Mrs. Jordan.

“What in the world—” The widow’s statement ceased as soon as Victor drew away the scarf, exposing Kelly’s sickly face. Heather shrieked and threw herself down by her niece, sobbing violently.

She could heal Kelly, Evra thought. All she needed to do was touch her to push the wellness into her lover’s limp and ailing body and take the sickness into her own, healing it and sending it back—

The second she dropped to her knees, Kelly’s eyes snapped open. “Evra,” she whispered with a smile, then she was gone, the light fading from her face.

“No.” Evra slapped her hands on Kelly’s cheeks and let her powers run down her arms, only to have them spark green and silver before fading away. “Kelly, come back.”

Desperate, she ripped away the layers that covered her lover and placed her hands on her chest so she could try again. Nothing but green and silver sparks, no flowing of healing energy into the battered body beside her. There was nothing.

“No.” Evra said again, her voice ringing in her ears. “Kelly, come back! I can make you better. Please, just come back!”

Screaming filled the air; she knew it wasn’t her voice but Mrs. Jordan helped Heather stand and walked the howling woman from the room. Her cries echoed as Evra tried again and again until tears started dripping on her lover’s corpse.

She didn’t know who they belonged to but they continued to fall until Victor grabbed her arm and pulled her back, away from Kelly.

“It’s over, kid,” he said gently. “She’s gone.”

Evra yanked herself from her mate’s grip and collapsed to her knees by the corpse, her talons shredding the fabric that covered the body.

More and more of Kelly was bared to her: the tangled, greasy hair, the hollowed cheeks, the scarred skin, the wrecked and wretched legs, and worst of all, the missing arm. When she saw that, she gasped and sat back on her heels, hand covering her mouth.

“I did that,” Evra whispered in a trembling voice. “I was hangin’ on t’ her so’s I could help her walk an’ when th’ blast happened…” She leaned forward and touched the red, ragged skin. “I heard a voice sayin’ I was grippin’ an arm an’ they took it from me! They took Kelly’s arm right from my hands an’ I…”

Her words dried up as dizziness overtook her. She swayed and placed her palms flat on her dead lover’s chest. Victor was moving behind her, ready to gather her up, but she wasn’t ready to go.

Pressing down with all her might, Evra leaned onto her hands, pushing as much power as she could into Kelly. Green and silver light exploded from her arms, rushing towards the body and she could feel the fire within her, the fire of her ability crackling through her, igniting each vein, each nerve, each cell she possessed as it flamed higher and higher and higher—

Pain burst throughout Evra. She was flung back when her healing light shattered into a million tiny pieces, each minute shard blasted in reverse, searing along her veins, her nerves, her cells as her body reabsorbed every single splinter of what it had pumped out.

She screamed.

And screamed.

And screamed.

 

* * *

 

**Remy**

 

Evra was screaming.

Blindly, Remy stumbled towards her and reached for her, only to be jerked back by the collar of his jacket when her back bent in a seemingly possible arch and green-silver light shot from her mouth towards the ceiling.

It hit the roof and dissipated, sparks falling around them harmlessly. When the last spark touched the floor, Evra crumpled, her body splayed beside that of her dead lover.

Remy dropped next to her and placed his fingertips to her neck. “She’s alive, _Dieu merci_.”

Victor loomed over him. “Good,” he growled, “now get th’ fuck away from her.”

He knelt back as the large man lifted Evra into his arms. Her green eyes were half-open, her mouth slack, and her hair lank. She looked broken and Remy’s heart fractured just a little bit. He was a doctor; he wanted noting more than to make her well again, have those eyes bright and that mouth smile only for him.

“We’re goin’ t’ our room,” Victor said without looking at Remy. “Don’t follow an’ I’ll kill you if I smell you on th’ stairs. I’m takin’ care of her, got it?” He didn’t wait for an answer before he strode towards them, his long legs allowing him to take three steps at a time.

Remy was left, lost and alone, in a strange house with a dead body at his feet. He was torn as what to do: should he leave? He’d worked so hard to get here, to be close to Evra, and now he was. It would be foolish to leave now even though the threat of a violent death was a distinct possibly every second he remained.

“He’s gone?” came a female voice from the shadows.

Lifting his head, Remy saw one of the older women standing there. “If you’re referrin’ to Victor, _oui_ ; he’s taken Evra upstairs.”

She came towards him and gestured towards the table, where he gratefully took a seat. Despite her age, the woman had strong and intimidating features, perfect posture, and the demeanour of someone who didn’t put up with a lot of nonsense. However, there was something else; she seemed resigned somehow, like this was now her lot in life and the only thing she could do was bear it with a dignified grace.

“I’m Mrs. Jordan,” she said as she went to a cupboard. “I’m the proprietress of this boarding house.”

“Doctor Remy Laurent.” He was surprised but pleased when the woman turned around holding a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. She placed them on the table and opened the liquor, pouring each a healthy dollop.

“I’m assuming you know Mr. Creed and Evra.” Mrs. Jordan reached for her glass and took a vigorous swallow.

“ _Oui_ ,” Remy replied, following her lead.

“You are more than welcome to stay here for the time being,” she said. “I find myself rather enjoying rebelling against Mr. Creed’s commands, especially with those who have threatened with death. I feel we’ll be good company for each other.”

He smirked, clinking his glass against her before tossing back the contents. “I couldn’ agree more, _madame_.”

Mrs. Jordan poured them another helping and the two sat in silence for a long time, drinking and enjoying the presence of the other. It was the first time in a long time that Remy felt relaxed.

He took the time to relish it because there was no way of knowing how long it would last…or how much longer he had to live.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Individually, we are one drop. Together, we are an ocean." - Ryunosuke Satoro Akutagawa (1892-1927). Author and poet. Considered the 'Father of the Japanese short story'. I've bastardized the quote for my own purposes
> 
> Martin Luther King Jr. (1929-1968). Civil right activist and minister.
> 
> J’ai besoin que tu m’aides (French) - "I feel like I'm going crazy/insane"
> 
> Par exemple (French) - "For example"
> 
> A 1917 five-dollar Canadian banknote, adjusted for inflation, would be around $80 in 2018/2019
> 
> Un pas de plus (French) - "One more step"
> 
> D'accord (French) - "Okay"
> 
> Sacrement (Quebecois) - roughly translates to "Godammit". Originated in Quebec
> 
> Je connais (French) - roughly translates to "I know/ I am aware"
> 
> Dieu merci (French) - "Thank God"


	8. Deep Ocean of Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor is ready to move on, but Evra still clings to those from her past, reluctant to let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are welcomed and encouraged!
> 
> Any mistakes in translation are completely my own because I'm not completely fluent. Corrections will not be turned away!

 

Having perfected our disguise,

we spend our lives searching

for someone we don't fool.

\- Robert Brault

 

 

* * *

**Victor**

The church was dim, lit by flickering candles, each one a remembrance of a person lost. The pastor was dressed in the usual dark robe, floating near the pulpit like a spirit.

Just being inside gave Victor the creeps. Despite not being a believer aside, the Houses of God always felt like a lie to him, a pile of bricks and lumber to pay homage to a deity no one had seen and who obviously didn’t care about anyone.

“Got someone I need buried,” Evra said, her voice loud in the discreet silence of the church. “Need it done tomorrow an’ I need her buried in a plot.”

The wearied priest turned towards her, deep dark circles around his eyes from little to no sleep. His cheeks were hollow as if he’d foregone eating because he was too busy droning on about God and Jesus during this time of need.

His robes were dirty, smeared with mud and dirt and blood; Victor could smell it. He drifted towards Evra like the spirit he seemed to be, hands held out to grasp hers.

“I understand your desire for haste, my son,” the priest said, covering her hands with his own gently, “but there is so much need right now and not enough of anything else to go around.”

Evra yanked away from his grip and plunged a hand into the pocket of her jacket, extracting a handful of bills that she then shoved towards him. “Money ain’t an issue,” she said roughly. “I got lots.”

Victor should’ve been prepared for something like this. Evra had been equal parts agitated and aggressive the past few days, alternately pushing him away during the day and demanding him at night, fucking him viciously and violently. He thought it’d be enough to alleviate her stubborn and argumentative behaviour, but he was wrong.

He shouldn’tve given her that fucking money back, that’s for damn sure, so he stepped forward to grab her wrist, but she jerked away from him, and irritated, let the bills fall from her hand to the floor.

“Goddammit,” he muttered as he dropped to his knees to start gathering them.

The priest was astonished by the amount of money littered as his feet. By Victor’s estimation, it had to be at least $500. He let loose with another curse, this one louder and more blasphemous than the last.

The priest cleared his throat and lifted his eyes back up to Evra, choosing to ignore Victor’s profane remark. “It’s not a matter of money—well, it is a little—but it’s winter; the ground is solid and—”

“You got a shovel, don’tcha?” Evra snarled.

“Evan,” Victor growled. The last of the money was folded and slipped securely into his jacket pocket. She payed him no attention, her eyes focused on the man of the cloth.

“We have several shovels, but they’re not made for taking on frozen soil.”

Victor had to give the guy credit—the priest didn’t waver in the face of Evra’s pique or did he back away as she advanced towards him. Victor figured if the man had to deal with the devil on a regular basis, he could handle a frustrated and angry female alpha feral. Personally, he’d rather go toe-to-toe against the devil.

Evra glared hard at the priest, the epitome of grace under pressure. “What if I dig my own hole an’ bring my own coffin? Would you do a ceremony then? Jus’ a small one, mind you, enough t’ make sure her soul gets where it needs t’ go.”

The man was silent for a moment, considering her request. “Yes,” he replied. “But it pains me to think of all the others who will have to wait for spring until—”

“I’ll dig as many as I can in one night.” Evra’s eyes were chips of ice, her face hard. “I can give you a dollar fifty for each one I dig, so’s they can have a proper service.”

 Victor could scent the priest’s scepticism, but he stepped forward to clasp Evra’s hands. “May God bless you, my son.”

“It ain’t God’s blessin’ he’s gonna need,” Victor snorted as he turned away, trailing after Evra’s purposeful stride.

He shook himself gently once they were outside the church, plucking the unlit cigarette from his mate’s lips to lift to his own. He hadn’t wanted to stay any longer in the church than necessary. It always felt like the walls of God were pressing in on him, trying to rid the world of the Victor-shaped tick on its back.

He snatched the lit match from Evra’s hands, using it to light his own cigarette before leaning down to light hers. “You ain’t doin’ this shit,” he said, blowing out a plume of grey smoke. “That man’s jus’ usin’ you for free labour.”

For a minute, he wondered if she had heard him; her green eyes were turned away, focused on something in the distance. He didn’t like it when she wasn’t paying attention to him, so he cleared his throat loudly.

Her gaze snapped to him. “You see all those coffins on th’ corner of Argyle and George? It gets bigger by the minute. Shit, churches an’ mortuaries gonna have t’ hold at least thirty t’ forty funerals a day jus’ t’ get everyone in th’ ground.”

“Christ, Evra,” Victor’s skin crawled with annoyance. “How many times I gotta tell you that you can’t save ‘em all? Let people bury their own dead, for fuck’s sake.”

She tossed her cigarette to the ground and stomped on it. “I’m doin’ jus’ that an’ I told you two things at th’ beginnin’ of all this: one, I’m gonna say goodbye t’ Kelly no matter what, an’ two, I don’t give a good goddamn what you do. Go home, stay here, I don’t fuckin’ care. Jus’ stop tellin’ me what t’ do at every goddamn turn.”

She stood there, small and furious, both of her hands fisted. Victor was torn between knocking her to the ground to fuck some sense back into her or tearing her apart. “Look here, girl,” he snarled, grabbing her elbow. “I’ve dealt with more’n my fair share of your bullshit an’ I’m done, you hear me?”

“Then go!” Evra roared, yanking her arm away. “I don’t _need_ you takin’ care of me, Victor! I was doin’ perfectly fine ‘fore you came along an’ I’ll do jus’ as well when you’re gone! I can make my own fuckin’ decisions!”

Of _course_ she fucking needed him! Where the hell would Evra Kitney be without Victor Creed’s help? Still rotting away in that tiny fucking hole of a town in nowhere Alberta, roughing up trappers and oilmen, protecting the ‘honour’ of whores, and drinking goddamn gasoline mash while all that incredible power and indomitable spirit went to fucking waste.

Victor had never hated Evra more than he did at this moment.

After everything he’d done for her, after everything she’d put him through, after the sacrifices he’s made for her, she kicks shit right back in his face?

 “Fine. You wanna be alone? You’re alone.” With one last look at Evra’s face, still twisted in contempt, Victor showed her his back and began walking back towards the boarding house.

Let her attack if that’s what she wanted. Let her claw and scream and rage. He would give it back tenfold if that’s what it took to make her realise how much she needed him.

In fact, one little reason keeping Evra at arm’s length was waiting back at the boarding house in the form of Doctor Remy Laurent. Once the Acadian was gone, surely she’d realise that Victor was _all_ she needed.

 

* * *

 

**Remy**

 

Victor was furious when he slammed in through the back door without Evra in tow. “—that aggravating vicious little _cunt_. Thinks she knows best. I _saved_ her! I made her…” The rest of his incensed diatribe faded as he stomped up the stairs, his fists clenched.

Remy sat at the kitchen table, trying his best to drink the lukewarm coffee that sat on the table in front of him. It wasn’t that he didn’t _want_ to drink it; in fact, he couldn’t come up with one good reason why he couldn’t. It was perfectly good coffee, not too strong or too weak, and he’d put the right amount of cream and sugar in it. Why was he refusing to lift the cup to his lips?

There was a thunderous clatter on the stairs as the other man came barrelling back down, still muttering under his breath. When he got the to table, he snatched up Remy’s mug and drained the coffee inside, dragging one arm across his mouth as he slammed it back down on the table.

“Ol’ biddy keeps th’ whiskey ‘round here somewhere,” Victor murmured as he crossed to the cupboards. He began rummaging through them without regard to anything in his path, clanging plates, cups, glasses, and whatever else together.

Remy feared the racket would bring down the wrath of Mrs. Jordan. Heather hadn’t been doing well since Kelly’s death, only emerging from her bedroom to wash and dress her niece’s corpse. The widow had been doting on her, keeping her warm and fed.

The body had been kept in a bedroom a few doors down from Remy’s on the women’s side of the boarding house. Evra had ripped down the wooden slats that had been nailed over the window to keep the cold out. It wasn’t ideal, but the chill had helped stave off much of the ugly business of decaying. Despite the disagreeable pallor of Kelly’s skin, the girl looked like she had died happy, a small smile on her face.

Remy was startled out of his reverie when Victor thumped down a bottle and two glasses, filling one generously before pushing it towards him, liquid sloshing over the rim. The large man tossed back the contents and pointed a large, thick finger at Remy.

“Wanna know somethin’ ‘bout women, Frenchie?” Victor didn’t wait for a response, ploughing ahead, his voice loud and angry. “You give an’ give an’ give an’ they keep wantin’ more, y’know? I could carve my fuckin’ guts out an’ serve ‘em to Evra on a goddamn silver platter garnished with diamonds an’ it still wouldn’t be enough. It’s never fuckin’ enough.”

He splashed more amber liquid into his glass and downed it. Remy assumed he and Evra had yet another falling out—the past few days he’d been here, the couple were either at each other’s throats or fucking each other ceaselessly and vociferously.

Imagining Evra pleasuring Victor was enough to make Remy lift the glass to his mouth and drink. Unlike the coffee, he had no trouble downing more and more and more, as long as Victor kept the glass full and his mind kept churning up images of the woman he loved fucking the man he hated.

The large man kept on talking as they drank, Remy getting increasingly smashed as the whiskey warmed his empty stomach and even emptier heart. The disgusting pictures of Evra and Victor had just started to blur, thanks to the liquor, when the blond finally stood, Remy wasn’t sure how much time had passed. They’d killed most of the bottle between them and it felt good, the liquid having infused his bones, and he tried not to stumble as he got to his feet. He failed.

“Should go t’ sleep,” Victor muttered. “You need it.”

Remy rubbed his eyes blearily, hoping to God there weren’t two Victors. One was plenty. “Wha abou’ you?”

Surprise blossomed on the large man’s face. He tensed, immediately defensive. “What _about_ me?”

Remy sighed, the hard exhale of breath making him sway slightly. He grabbed the edge of the table for support and looked up into the other man’s face. “I _know_ you been up f’r at least _deux jours_ , Victor, ‘cause I got a pair of _oreilles_ an’ dat woman ain’t quiet when da two of you... _de toute façon_ , you need sleep too.”

The feral sneered. “That your professional opinion, doc?”

He huffed a laugh. “ _Personnellement_ , I wouldn’ give a good goddamn if you keeled over in da street, but as a _docteur_ , yes, dat’s my professional assessment.”

“I don’t need some pansy-ass French doctor tellin’ me what t’ do.”

 “ _Faites ce que vous voulez_. I’ve said my piece.” Remy shrugged, the motion making him dizzy enough to stagger back against his chair, his legs giving out. He didn't bother to correct Victor on the whole French thing; he knew the big man was doing it just to be annoying. Suddenly, he tilted his head back, looking Victor in the face, as realization hit him. “Y’know, you got it all backwards, _homme_. Evra, she’ll do anythin’ f’ us—anythin’ at all—an’ no matter what we do, how we do it, how often we do it, we’ll never deserve ‘er. Ever.”

Victor started at him for a moment, then grabbed the bottle of whiskey, lifted it to his mouth and drained what was left in three thirsty gulps before slamming it back on the table. “Bullshit,” he sneered. “That girl don’t do a damn thing unless it benefits herself.”

Remy lurched back onto his feet, incensed. “I t’ink you confused, _mon ami_. You jus’ described yourself; Evra ain’t nothin’ like that.”

“You ‘t’ink’ so, huh?” Victor towered over him but Remy held firm. “If she ain’t like that, why’s she still hangin’ ‘round me instead of spreadin’ her legs for you whenever you got th’ itch? It’s ‘cause I take her places an’ she likes how I fuck her.”

“Don’ talk ‘bout her like dat!” He clenched his hands, anger spreading like fire through his veins. “She’s not a whore!”

The larger man smirked, knowing he’d hit a nerve. “She sure she moans like one when my cock’s deep inside her sweet pussy.”

With a roar, Remy launched himself at Victor, a swinging fist heading for the man’s leering face. However, thanks to being drunk off of his ass, he miscalculated and ended up falling flat on his chest, the momentum of his fist only stopping when it hit the top of his head.

Groaning, he rolled over to see Victor staring down at him. “I’d laugh at ya, Frenchie, really I would, but yer jus’ so damn pathetic, ‘specially when it comes t’ Evra.” He crouched down, his eyes locked on Remy’s. “I bet th’ worst part ain’t that I’m fuckin’ her; I bet it’s ‘cause she chose _me_ , the horrible, awful monster over _you_ , th’ handsome do-gooder doctor. I’m sure that jus’ gets your goddamn goat.”

Remy tried to swallow around the sudden lump in this throat. He was right; the asshole was _right_. Knowing that she was fucking Victor was bad enough, but seeing them together—how he touched her, how he made her smile and laugh, how he watched her when she wasn’t looking—it twisted Remy’s guts.

“Why d’ya want her anyway?” Victor tugged on a strand of Remy’s hair, twirling it around his finger in an overly familiar gesture. “It ain’t like she’s all that great t’ look at. Seen lots a prettier pussy throwin’ itself at you back at th’ whorehouse.” He got on his knees and leaned down, bringing his face closer and closer. Remy squirmed, but the other man grasped his chin tightly. “I mean, shit, doc, you say th’ word an’ _I’ll_ fuck you. Smells like you ain’t got any in helluva long time.”

Before Remy could reply, his mouth was claimed brusquely, a rough, sandpaper tongue teasing his lips until he parted them with a groan, that tongue then delving deeply inside. He found himself reacting to the kiss, his eyes fluttering shut, his long fingers grabbing at Victor’s blond hair forcefully, trying to keep their mouths fused together.

He hadn’t been kissed like this in so long, not since Evra had come back to Fort McMurray after the fire and they’d fought. Not since she’d dropped to her knees and had taken him in her mouth—

Gasping, Remy pulled himself away from Victor’s sinful kiss, hands scrambling to push himself away. With a wicked chuckle, amber eyes sparking, the man reached down and groped Remy’s cock over his pants.

“I’m givin’ you a choice, doc,” he said in a low, sensual voice as he squeezed. “You can have me right here an’ now or you can wait for Evra t’ show up on yer doorstep, which ain’t likely to happen as long as I’m alive.”

“E-Evra,” Remy panted as he crawled further backwards, Victor’s hand giving one last squeeze before dropping away. “Always Evra.”

“Why?”

“It’s ‘c-cause…” he hesitated, lifting his gaze back to the other man. “You jus’ t’ink she’s strong an’ fierce an’ tough but dere’s so much more you don’ see ‘cause you choose not to. Dat’s why. _J’attendrai_ _pour l’éternité_.”

Victor stood, a laugh booming from him as he pressed a foot into Remy’s stomach. “That’s the diff’rence ‘tween you an’ me, doc.” He pushed down harder, driving the air from his lungs. “You put Ev on a pedestal, I don’t. You ain’t seen all her ugly, I have. You look at her an’ you see an angel with a halo who’ll take you t’ heaven. I look at her an’ I see a big a monster as I am: sharp teeth an’ claws an’ bloody as fuck, an’ I’d follow her into hell.” He pulled his foot away and Remy gasped for air, his ears ringing. “That girl ain’t gonna save ya, Frenchie. If anythin’, she’ll end up gettin’ ya killed.”

The world was spinning as Remy rolled over and pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, trying to ignore the roiling acid in his stomach. He tried to formulate a response—a word, a phrase, anything—to let Victor know he was wrong, that Evra would be his happiness until the day he died, but he was silent as the blond stalked off up the stairs, and silent again as he came back down, dressed to go out into the cold.

“I’m bringin’ her home,” Victor growled, pulling on his boots. “I’ve had enough of her shit an’ I’ve had enough of yours. When I get back, you ain’t here. Pack whatever crap you got an’ fuck right off.”

The door was opened and closed, a gust of winter air slapping Remy in the face, and it was then he let the tears fall.

 

* * *

 

**Evra**

 

Evra slammed the shovel against the dirt, cursing loudly as the metal spade bent slightly.

The priest had been right when he said the church had several shovels; one of the wooden handles had broken under the force of her drives, snapping in two between her hands. The blade of the second had been warped beyond repair by her forcing it into the solid ground again and again.

Trapping the metal under her foot, she pushed her weight down and bent it back into something more serviceable but she knew she’d have to be more careful. This was the last shovel.

Evra had been digging graves since late afternoon, only stopping to relieve herself and to take an occasional sip of water. Ignoring those who stopped to stare, she’d put shovel to dirt hour upon hour, continuing now that it was well past sunset, probably past midnight.

She’d been doing it so long, it had become mindless: place shovel against ground. Put foot on blade. Push, push, push. Fill blade with dirt. Heave. Repeat until a good rectangle of area was cleared. Climb out. Go to next spot. Repeat.

She couldn’t stop. She wouldn’t stop. Whenever her muscles would scream with fatigue, she would wait a minute until the tingly feeling that meant she was healed faded, then would start again. She’d already shed her jacket, shirt, scarf, and gloves to stop from overheating.

The dark was absolute but Evra didn’t need that much light to see. If she stopped for more than a minute, she could’ve counted how many graves she’d dug, but right now, as her sweat dripped into the dirt, she didn’t know the number. All the plots had blurred into one, the only one that mattered.

The one that she would bury Kelly in.

Maybe along the way, one of the graves became Jasmine’s, another became Madame Olive’s, another was for her early life. Another for her mother and her father. Another for what she had left behind.

 All Evra knew was that she wouldn’t allow her dead husband, Daniel Vargis, to be buried here. He could continue to rot in the small cabin where she’d left him. Stanley Pointer wouldn’t be here, either. His broken body was lying at the bottom of a cliff back in Fort McMurray, torn apart by scavengers, hopefully now present only in the piles of animal shit that littered the terrain.

Those men didn’t deserve to be here, to be surrounded by the memories of people she loved, to taint everything with their disgusting and horrible presence, their evil spirits haunting somewhere holy and sacred.

As Evra reached the bottom of the present hole she was digging, exhaustion slammed into her and she stopped. Her muscles and joints begging for respite, the familiar tingle already beginning its work.

Maybe she should lie down. Just for a few minutes. This could be _her_ grave and no one else’s. She would lie down and die here, let everything go, let the breath slip from her body and—

Evra came back to herself; she was on her knees, her fingers buried in the dirt beneath her. The chill was creeping into her bones. Victor’s scent had been sneaking up on her for the last few moments and when she tilted her head up, she found herself looking into her mate’s face.

Without a word, she lifted an arm and he grasped her wrist, pulling her up and out of the grave, and into his arms. He smelled wonderful—strong and virile and primal and animal—but she didn’t wrap herself around him because there was something else that gave her pause…

Remy’s scent clung to Victor’s clothes and mouth, spicy and sharp even over the whiskey on his breath. One of his hands slid up under her filthy undershirt and over her sweaty skin to find a breast, palming over the binding Remy had given to her.

When Victor pulled back slightly to look at her, Evra kissed him. It was needy and wanting and angry and she clutched his jacket, trying to meld herself to his body. He made a pleased sound, his grip tightening around her.

She was driven not only by the hot press of Victor’s desire but by the scent of the doctor that clung to him. Evra kissed him again, lapping at the taste of the two men combined, wanting to commit the exquisite flavour to memory.

Victor went to his knees, laying her against the pile of dirt before he grabbed the bottom of her undershirt and ripped it, exposing her chest. “Yer goin’ home,” he said gruffly, his thumbs stroking just under the binding.

“Fuck off,” she sneered, her hands working the buttons of his jacket. “I ain’t done here.”

His coat slid down his arms and he pulled his shirt off over his head, tossing it into the darkness. “Gonna fight me on this, kid? We both know you ain’t got th’ strength.”

Snarling, Evra tried to push back, but he was right—she was too weak after expending hours of energy digging graves. The tendril of lust swirling around them strengthened; Victor loved when she was weaker than he was. He lowered his hips, pressing his erection to her groin with a sly smile.

“You ain’t the boss of me, Victor, much as you pretend you are.” Despite Evra’s anger, she was helpless against his pheromones; the heady mix of testosterone and primal need stoked her desire into a fire that matched his. She popped the buttons of his trousers, undeniably eager.

“I’m your mate—”

“So’s you keep remindin’ me, but you ain’t done nothin’ but piss me off—”

Victor clamped his hand over her mouth, lowering his face to hers. “I kissed yer handsome doctor, offered t’ fuck him.” He replaced his hand with his mouth, kissing her greedily.

That explained why Remy’s taste mingled with her mate’s. “I tol’ you they ain’t a replacement for you, Victor,” she gasped when he pulled away.

“I don’t _care_ ,” he hissed, claws shredding the crotch of her pants. “You _belong_ t’ me Evra—Irish knew that. Shit, even th’ doc knows, so why don’t you?” Although Victor’s voice was low and his demeanour was calm, his rage was palpable, a hot wind scorching her exposed skin. “Y’know, girl, you ain’t done nothin’ but bring ‘round these dumb sluts like Kelly an’ the doc t’ use as a barrier between us an’ I’m goddamn sick of it. No more of that shit, you hear me?”

Victor’s hands curled under her knees in order to hoist her up and spread her open. Evra knew he didn’t own her, but it was hard to argue the fact when she let herself be taken whenever Victor had the slightest inclination. Besides, she was too tired, too grief-stricken to fight about it.

He hooked her legs over his hips to line up his hard cock with her wet opening. “Wanna know somethin’?” His smile and amber eyes were sly. “Doc chose you over me anyway.”

Evra let out a choked cry as Victor pushed into her, his claws piercing the underside of her thighs. He growled as he started to thrust, the sound vibrating under her skin, making her heart stutter a few beats. Her eyes fluttered shut when he started nipping at the crook of neck, wanting her to release her shield to free her scent.

She would let him have her…there were still certain things she could keep out of his reach. It was petty as hell and she relished it, this one piece of herself that Victor could want and demand but she didn’t have to give him.

His beautiful body arched over hers, one end sheathing and unsheathing his cock relentlessly into her velvet insides, the other panting hotly at her throat, words tumbling from his mouth that Evra couldn’t quite hear; her mind drifted towards Remy as his scent wafted around her from Victor’s lips and skin.

She knew that the doctor had developed feelings for her—why, she didn’t understand. He was older and more experienced while she was young and furious, almost incapable of being soft. He and Jasmine had helped her find that gentleness within and embrace it, letting her know she didn’t have to be a beast to everyone she met.

In reality, Remy saw more of her feral side than anyone else, save for Victor. The doctor was always there to patch up some schlub she’d beaten the shit out of, he was always there to bring her back down if she went too far over the edge, snarling and baying for blood. Not even her beloved Jasmine could’ve done that.

Evra wasn’t sure if it was something in his bright blue eyes or the way he smiled or the way he would reprimand her in his strange mix of Acadian and English that never failed to make her laugh.

Doctor Remy Laurent. She pictured him the way he looked in Fort McMurray, before he travelled east, before the disaster had stamped itself on his face, leaving behind eyes darkened and cheeks thinned by hours upon hours of work to help people he didn’t know.

Evra had confessed her love for him, but the overwhelming feelings she experienced as she bonded to Victor had caused her to reconsider. She wasn’t the same person she was back then; she’d done more and seen more and killed more.  

She didn’t think she was capable of the tender, warm, and comfortable love that emanated from Remy; she was too bloody now, too far gone. He was too good for her. But yet, the handsome doctor’s quick and easy grin, those amazing eyes, his slow drawl kept coming back to her time and again…

Evra’s fingernails dug into Victor’s flesh as she came with a loud groan. He followed soon after with a strangled shout while he emptied into her. When he was finished, he stood, fastening his pants before grabbing his jacket to toss over her.

“Put in on an’ go home.” Victor growled. She opened her mouth but he whirled on her. “Don’t you dare start backtalkin’ me, Ev. I’m fuckin’ serious ‘bout all this bullshit. We’re goin’ t’ war in a few weeks an’ you gotta start cuttin’ ties. You don’t need any of those assholes ‘cause you got me; I’m all you’re ever gonna need.”

Standing shirtless by the graveside, the dark of the night silhouetting his strong body, Victor looked like a mountain come to life, a huge, imposing presence that had cast its long shadow over her. Then the mountain chuckled. “An’ don’t worry ‘bout the doc none,” he said pleasantly. “I cut that particular tie for ya.”

His words froze her to the spot as her heart dropped out of her chest. “What d’ya mean by that?”

Her smiled enigmatically. “Ain’t tellin’.”

“You wouldn’t—”

“Wouldn’t I?” Victor’s smirk enraged her, especially as it grew in the face of her indecision. “If you wanna find out, best get a move on.”

Her mate turned away, only to halt as the next three words spilled from her mouth: “I hate you.”

Evra saw his shoulders tighten and there was a split second where she wished she could take it back, where she wondered if she even really meant it, but Victor started walking as if he hadn’t heard her speak, and that pushed her over the edge.

“I mean it, Victor. I hate your fuckin’ goddamn bastard guts!”

Silence fell after she spoke, the only sounds the purposeful stride of her mate and her ragged breathing, each breath pushing her fury and loathing out of her lungs until she had nothing left.

Following Victor now would end in a vicious and bloody battle and that was time Evra didn’t have to waste. She decided to leave him to stew in whatever was going on in the bastard’s head and raced home, ignoring the way the too-large jacket flapped and swelled around her with each step she took.

The boarding house was dark as she arrived, and it was cold as she entered, calling Remy’s name once softly. There wasn’t a hint of blood as she moved through the kitchen, the common room, or up the stairs to the women’s side, where Remy slept.

Evra cracked the bedroom door open carefully, not wanting to wake the doctor if he was asleep. Looking in, she hoped to see Remy sprawled on his back in bed, snoring gently, but it was empty. The sheets were rumpled, the pillow on the floor, knocked down in what looked like a hurried escape. She stepped further into the room to see that the small closet was wide open, and that many of the drawers in the bureau hadn’t been shut properly.

“Mrs. Creed.” Mrs. Jordan was in the doorway, occupying the space Evra had abandoned. She sounded irate, haven been woken from sleep despite Evra’s efforts to be quiet.

“Where is he?”

The old woman’s face softened. “I have no idea, dear.”

Evra snatched the pillow from the floor and sat heavily on the bed, hugging it close to her. Remy’s spicy pepper scent clung to it; she inhaled deeply, letting the smell swirl around in her lungs, wanting him to be a part of her.

“Mrs. Creed,” Mrs. Jordan said gently. “It would be a good idea for you to get some rest. Tomorrow will be hard on all of us.”

“Thank you.” Evra’s voice sounded bland to her own ears as the widow patted her shoulder and exited, leaving her all alone.

She stood, ready to chuck the pillow back on the bed, but something crinkled, catching her attention. Slowly, she reached inside the case, searching until her fingers came in contact with a small slip of paper. Tugging it out, she brought it to her nose, breathing in the smell of ink.

Open, it revealed Remy’s neat and precise scrawl: _Evra, je t’aimerai toujours._  A tear drop was its only punctuation and she lifted the note to her mouth, the tip of her tongue pressing against the doctor’s sorrow.

It tasted of grief and love, a sweet yet disastrous combination if there ever was one, and before Evra lay down for the night on Remy’s abandoned pillow, she added a few tears of her own.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "A woman's heart is a deep ocean of secrets" - Gloria Stuart, American actress (1910-2010). Quote is from the movie 'Titanic' (1997), 
> 
> Robert Brault is a published author, known for "Round Up the Usual Suspects" and "The Everyday Aphorist"
> 
> In 2019, $500 in 1917 would be worth about $8,000
> 
> In 2019, $1.50 in 1917 would be worth about $25
> 
> Argyle Street and George Street are real places in Halifax. There's a haunting photo on the internet of coffins upon coffins piled up in front of a local mortuary, waiting for burial. The number Evra quotes "about 30-40 funerals a day" is accurate
> 
> Deux Jours (French) - Two days
> 
> Oreilles (French) - ears
> 
> De toute facon (French) - Anyway
> 
> Personnellement (French) - Personally
> 
> Docteur (French) - Doctor
> 
> Faites ce que vous voulez (French) - Do what you will
> 
> Homme (French) - Man
> 
> Mon ami (French) - Friend/ my friend
> 
> J'attendrai pour l'eternite (French) - I can wait for eternity
> 
> Je t’aimerai toujours (French) - I'll love you always


	9. Losing Sight of the Shore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evra comes to terms with her past, leaving the future she faces with Victor wide open.

Some of think holding on makes us strong;

but sometimes it is letting go.

\- Hermann Hesse

 

* * *

 

**Victor**

 

Evra was asleep when he came into their room, curled up inside of the jacket he’d sent her home in last night. She was probably saturated in his scent now, all traces of the doctor gone. A quiet purr thrummed its out of his chest at the thought of it.

Silently, Victor crossed the room with two brown paper wrapped packages and placed one on top of the dresser before turning back to his slumbering mate. He leaned over the bed, planted his hand in the middle of Evra’s back and shoved.

“Get up.”

She grunted and her toes—which were peeking out the bottom of his jacket—vanished as she drew her legs up, making her copper hair the only thing visible. The sight of his mate all soft and fragile made him smile … until her words from last night came back to him.

_“I hate your fuckin’ goddamn bastard guts.”_

Just because Evra had thought he’d killed Dr. Remy Laurent.

Victor turned away, clenching a fist against his leg. He hated sharing her with what seemed like an endless parade of people: Jasmine, Kelly, Remy, and those she’d picked up along the way.

Why wasn’t he enough for her? How many more would have to die by his hand before Evra understood that she belonged to him, body and soul? Killing Jasmine had been fun—Victor wasn’t going to deny it—and while Kelly’s death had been brought on by outside forces, he’d relished it all the same.

Why hadn’t he killed Evra’s beloved Acadian? Maybe it was because it would’ve been a fucking shame to rid the world of something so goddamn pretty, but if he was being honest with himself, he loved the knowledge that the man was out there alive, desperate for something Victor possessed but could never have.

While Evra was everything to Victor, that fact made her all the more appealing. Speaking of appealing … He dropped the second brown paper package to the floor and lowered himself onto the bed. She gave a drowsy moan, stretching her body lazily while he straddled her. Her eyes settled on his face as he unbuttoned his coat, peeling it open.

Her expression transformed from drowsy curiosity to a mix of lust and determination. She pushed herself onto her elbows, tilting her head back. Her mouth was forceful as it crashed into his, her sharp teeth nipping at his lips.

He helped her pull off his filthy clothes in between kisses and snarls, their hands clumsy and careless, ripping them under their impatience. Pieces fell next to the package, which lay forgotten next to the bed.

 _Evra_.

Her name was a whisper on Victor’s lips and she whined softly while his hands slid up to cup her breasts. He kissed her again with a growl that had her trembling as he continued to caress her. She pulled away with a gasp, still quivering, and he cupped the back of her neck, his thumb stroking her hairline.

“Victor,” Evra’s voice was trembling, her fingers plucking at him desperately, her green eyes almost feverish. “Please, I—I—"

The scent of her heat was strong and heady, and it pulsed around him in time to the beat of her heart. “Jesus, Evra. What the hell—"

“It don’t matter, boss,” she pleaded. “Just, please—” Quickly, she squirmed, rolling onto her stomach, and lifted her bottom half so that she was presenting to him. “I need you so much.”

Her words sent a tremor of shock through him; Evra hated to admit she needed anybody in any capacity … especially Victor. She resisted him at every turn, disputed his every decision, and contradicted him whenever possible. She was infuriating as she was amazing.

A groan escaped him as the sweet scent of her heat grew sharper. Panting, he lowered his face to her sweet, soaked pussy and licked, drawing a gasp from her. The sound was incredible, so he gripped her hips, his thumbnails digging into her skin as he lapped again and again until her tights began to tremble.

She mewled, shoving her pussy back against his face as she came. Victor slid an arm around her waist as her knees started to give out. Evra whimpered his name while he straightened, placing a hand on the small of her back to calm her. Her flesh burned under his touch.

She groaned under him, her hands fisting the sheets in frustration. “Don’t stop, Victor.”

“Wasn’t gonna,” he growled, stroking his aching cock.

Sudden and unexpected submissive behaviour from Evra was a pleasure Victor rarely experienced, but he couldn’t help but be bothered by the abruptness of it. He was certain there were motives and purposes behind what she was doing though he couldn’t quite suss it out.

Impatient, Evra pushed her hips back with an exasperated groan and ground herself against his thigh, panting with want. Then again, Victor thought that he shouldn’t be looking a gift horse in the mouth.

He gave his cock one last stroke before slowly sliding into her. She cried out, desperately trying to impale herself on him, but he stilled her with a warning growl.

Evra whimpered while he gradually stretched her open, keening softly when he was finally sheathed all of the way inside her velvet wetness. The muscles squeezed and contracted around his cock almost painfully, giving way only when he started thrusting.

Victor had only managed a few strokes when she came, screaming into the pillow, her talons slashing the sheets beneath her. “Jesus Christ, Evra,” he panted as he worked her carefully through the aftershocks.

She was beyond speech, grunts and mewls of pleasure the only thing leaving her while he fucked into her deep and slow. Leaning forward, pressing his chest to her back, he nuzzled the crook of her shoulder, letting his teeth graze flesh. She shuddered and stretched her neck to allow him better access.

Slowly, cautiously, Victor wrapped a hand around her throat. He waited for Evra to balk at the possessive and dominating gesture—she’d almost eviscerated him once before when he’d tried it—but instead, she mewled in pleasure and tilted her head back.

The act of surrender pushed him that much closer to the edge and he growled lustily in her ear before extending his claws, the tips pricking her skin gently. She wailed her ecstasy as she climaxed again, her tight hole clamping around his cock.

Feeling Evra detonate around him, the exquisiteness of her body’s surrender, and the noises spilling from her mouth was enough to make Victor explode, and he squeezed her throat forcefully as he roared, spilling his hot seed into her.

“Jesus fuck,” he panted as they both gasped for air. He eased from her body gently, both of them moaning from the loss of contact, before he flopped onto his back. “Th’ fuck was that about, kid?”

“Wasn’t ‘bout anythin’, boss,” she said, laying her head on his chest. “Jus’ a bit of fun is all.”

Skeptical, Victor pushed her onto her back and sat up, his eyes narrowed as he looked at her. “You bein’ submissive is never ‘bout nothin’, Evra. I _know_ you; th’ last time you were like this was when you wanted Kelly taggin’ along.” She flinched at the mention of her dead lover’s name. “I’d appreciate if you dropped th’ bullshit instead of dancin’ around whatever it is you want.”

“I don’t _want_ anythin’, Victor.” Evra steeled her gaze. “I need t’ tell you that I—” Her voice faltered, her throat working as she tried to swallow the emotion she was feeling.

Victor admired the bruises around her neck, reaching up to touch one gently as it faded away under his finger. She captured the hand and kissed his palm.

“When I said I hated you last night, I meant it,” she said. “I meant it right in _that_ second but I don’t no more. Sometimes I hate you so much I can barely stand it, but really, you’re th’ only one still here through all the crazy, through all th’ blood. I know that you dug graves after I left ‘cause you wanted me t’ be happy.

“I only wanna make you happy too an’ I see that now. Jasmine, Kelly, Remy, I ain’t meant for any of that; I’m made for you.” Nestling close to him, Evra took the same hand she’d kissed and placed it just below her neck. “I’m always gonna be yours.”

Victor pressed his hand down, feeling her bones, the sweep of air through her lungs, the solid beat of her heart. Evra now knew that everything beneath his palm belonged to him. It filled him with a feeling he wasn’t familiar with: joy. He was used to the thrill of the hunt, the kill, but unlike the quick blast of euphoria, this one didn’t fade. This was a thing Victor didn’t ever want to come down from.

He reached over the side of the bed, flicking his clothes aside before he found what he was looking for. The package landed on Evra’s stomach and she grunted in surprise, her gaze darting to his face. She sat up, pulling at the twine until she became frustrated, slicing it with her talons.

Her eyes widened as she took in the new army dress uniform that greeted her, freshly pressed and made to her exact measurements, with room for the binding that held her breasts down. She held the jacket up to admire, turning it this way and that, running her fingers over the buttons and snaps.

This went on for ages until Victor had enough; he reached up and pushed the coat down gently so he could see her face. Evra was smiling, her green eyes glittering like jewels in the sun.

“Does this make you happy?” he asked as he leaned forward.

“Yes,” she murmured, his lips hovering over hers.

“If you’re happy, I’m happy.” Victor closed the distance between their mouths, the kiss passionate and heated.

He slid a hand down to cup his mate’s breast as he kissed the crook of neck, her shoulder, the line of her jaw. Soon, he was moving inside of her again as she moaned his name and Victor didn’t ever want it to stop.

 

* * *

**Evra**

 

It was done.

Kelly lie in her coffin at the bottom of a six-foot pit that Evra had made. She’d been wearing a fine dress of Heather’s that Mrs. Jordan had altered to fit her smaller frame; Kelly hadn’t had clothes nice enough to be buried in.

The ceremony had been a blur of words and Heather sobbing messily into a handkerchief, leaning heavily on Evra as Mrs. Jordan held the distraught woman’s hand. She’d sent both of them home in a horse-drawn carriage, paid the priest for the service, and handed over an additional $112.50 for the seventy-five graves that had been dug.

Once everything was finished, Evra returned to the graveside alone. She pulled out her dead lover’s Claddagh ring and Remy’s small note of everlasting devotion. She placed both against her lips, then dropped them into the pit, the ring making a clattering noise before falling silent forever.

“I can’t keep your gifts,” she whispered. “I don’t deserve ‘em, not anymore.”

The frozen chunks of dirt tossed into the grave drummed against the coffin in a sad tattoo, the signal of it letting passerby know that someone was finally being buried. Men who passed the yard removed their hats out of respect, the women sketching the sign of the cross before moving on.

Evra didn’t wait for the pit to be filled; she was sure Kelly didn’t need her anymore, but she knew someone who did. Victor was standing just outside the church gate, a cigarette between his lips.

He hadn’t attended Kelly’s funeral but he was here now, clean and handsome in his new military uniform. His eyes were on her as she approached and made no move to comfort her when she was close enough. A moment of silence passed between them, then he handed her a lit cigarette as he bent to brush soil from the knees of her uniform.

“You ain’t as nasty as you pretend to be, y’know.” Evra smiled at him as Victor stood, adjusting his cap.

He huffed a laugh, a plume of smoke blossoming around his head. “I am, kid,” he said, returning her smile. “Don’t think you’re makin’ me soft.”

She leaned against him, head on his chest. “Mebbe jus’ a little?”

Victor tucked a finger under her chin, tilting her head up. The kiss was gentle but fiery. She wrapped her arms around his waist, wanting and needing him close, loving the way his scent wound around her.

Those who walked by didn’t dare say a word against or try to separate the two soldiers. Many of them had suffered loss in the past week; seeing love, in any form, was refreshing.

Victor’s mouth moved from Evra’s lips to her forehead, tipping her cap back to drop a kiss on her crown before he yanked it down over her eyes and pushed her away.

“Not even th’ tiniest bit.”

 

 ~fin ... for now~

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You can't discover a new land without first losing sight of the shore." - Unknown
> 
> "Some of us think holding on makes us strong; but sometimes it is letting go." - Hermann Hesse (1877-1962), German novelist, author of "Siddhartha", "Steppenwolf," and "The Glass Bead".
> 
> This marks the end of "I Saw Two Ships..." but it's not the end of Victor Creed and Evra Kitney's adventures. Please continue to join them as they join the WWI efforts overseas ... and come face-to-face with Victor's previous partner.


End file.
